


The Cleaners

by Racey



Category: Bleach
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:41:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 52,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22281283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Racey/pseuds/Racey
Summary: The past chases Ichigo down and makes life severely difficult, not to mention full of nonstop action. Somehow, through the entire fiasco, he manages to surrender to the love he's kept hidden for so long.
Relationships: Grimmjow Jaegerjaques/Kurosaki Ichigo
Comments: 3
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Bleach...

Onwards...

XOXOXO

"Where's the cash, Lou?"

The short, portly man cowered closer to a large, green dumpster, sweat pouring down the sides of his poorly tanned face. His dark eyes darted from one end of the alley to the other, searching desperately for an escape. He was dressed in a dark-blue, pinstriped suit, gold cufflinks twinkling under the dim lights, and a gold wristwatch peeking from underneath the starched white shirt sleeve. His salt and pepper hair was slicked back and he altogether resembled an oily car salesman. A gun cocked, pulling the man's eyes back to the present situation.

"Lou. Where's the cash?"

The man visibly swallowed, blood pounding in his temples as he stared at his interrogator. "I-I can't tell you that. They'll kill me."

"You sure you wanna be worryin' about _that_?"

A silvery chuckle echoed in the deserted alley, making the man – Lou – glance around, panicked.

"Mah, mah. He ain't too bright, is he O?"

"Nah, he ain't. Plus, he's startin' to piss me off. Look, I'll only ask you one more time, Lou. _Where the fuck is the cash?_ "

Instead of giving an answer, Lou took off in the opposite direction. That silvery voice broke into hysterical laughter, while the man that was doing the questioning shook his head exasperatedly.

"I hate when they run," he muttered, rubbing his forehead with the barrel of the gun clutched loosely in his right hand. "Bad move, Lou. I tried to spare you."

He turned and watched the man speed off, stubby legs pumping furiously and coattails flapping behind him. He didn't get very far before he suddenly pitched forward and fell face first onto the cold, unforgiving pavement. Another man jumped down onto the ground from a nearby fire escape, mouth pulled into a wide, toothless grin. He too was dressed in a suit, except his was black, the white dress shirt underneath impeccably pressed, but suit jacket hanging open. He strolled over to the fallen Lou, nudged the man's side with his foot, then looked back down the alley.

"Bulls-eye," he called, voice light and amused.

"Ah, man, G! You just took all the fun outta the chase!" a deep, gravelly voice shouted from above.

"We all know when the target runs, it makes my reflexes act up. So...blame O for lettin' him run."

"Well, I like makin' em sweat."

"Hey, I'm the only sadist around here."

The group of men casually collected at Lou's body, the man belonging to the gravelly voice dropping out of the sky from another fire escape. He landed quietly beside O, mouth pursed in a petulant pout and black suit wrinkled beyond repair. Egyptian blue eyes were cold and devious, but piercing through the bright orange-haired man, O.

"Next time, I do the talkin'," he grunted, folding his arms across a broad chest.

"B, you don't do talkin' very well," the airy-voiced, silver-haired man put in.

"In fact, he doesn't do it at all," O added with a smirk.

B pouted some more, but turned to look at Lou, who hadn't moved since he'd hit the ground. The silver-haired man stooped beside Lou, and rested on his haunches, head tilted to the side.

"I say he's pretty dead," he stated.

O snorted. "Ya know, a knife to the back of the head will do that."

"Mah. All in a day's work, eh?"

"G, just get your shit and let's go. This alley stinks," B grumbled.

G chuckled, but reached forward and snatched a Boker Ziel throwing knife from the back of Lou's head. He calmly wiped it with the hem of his suit jacket before sticking it into the leather case at the small of his back. Once he was done with that, he stood and looked around expectantly, drawing a roll of the eyes from O and an aggravated grunt from B.

The three men leisurely left the alley, side by side, Lou's body still lying face down on the ground, and blood pooling around his head. They all shoved their hands into their pockets, while G whistled a light tune.

All in a day's work indeed.

**Three Years Later**

The sun was merciless, the breeze nonexistent, and the humidity stifling. It was enough to make any normal person run and hide until the soothing cover of nightfall. However, Ichigo wasn't so lucky. It was high noon and the heat beat against him like a hammer. He sucked his teeth and adjusted the brim of his work hat. It didn't help; all it achieved was keeping the sun from burning his forehead. He slowly made his way up a stone walkway leading to another suburban house. This one was white, the trim green. There was a tricycle sprawled on the lawn as well as an inflatable pool that was half-filled with water. Although there were signs of human life, there were no actual people outside. They were fortunate enough to enjoy their Summer indoors.

He stepped over a skateboard and didn't stop moving until he reached the front door, where he bent over and slipped a few envelopes and magazines through the metal mail slot. Frantic barking suddenly erupted, making Ichigo straighten his back in a hurry. Then, he sighed. The barking was high-pitched, which meant it belonged to an ankle-biter. He _really_ hated those annoying little dogs with sharp teeth and quick feet. With a shake of his head, he turned and ambled over to the next house. He wished the navy blue shorts and pale blue, short-sleeved, collared shirt he wore actually helped keep him cool in the sweltering weather, but sadly they did nothing except make him yearn to be naked. He dug through the heavy messenger bag at his side and withdrew a few more envelopes and this time a small cardboard box. 1422 Albion Way was the exact replica of the house he'd just left, only it was beige and white. The lawn was littered with a variety of toys and small bicycles...and a huge Doberman Pinscher. Normally, the large, yet sleek dog was kept inside the house, or in the backyard. What the fuck was it doing tied to the banister in front?

Ichigo paused and watched the dog study him with dark eyes. He didn't fuck around with big dogs. Ankle-biters he could handle because with one well-placed kick, they were no longer an issue. That fact didn't hold true with dogs of this caliber. He adjusted the strap of his bag and shifted his weight. He had to come up with a plan B. And ASAP.

"Hey, Mr. Mail Guy!" a childish voice rang out, interrupting his whirling thought process.

He glanced around and finally found the source leaning in one of the windows of the upper level of the house. The boy had riotous auburn hair, huge ice blue eyes and a lazy grin. He waved down at Ichigo before resting his chin in the palm of his small hand. He was six years old.

"Hey, Chris. Uh, where's your mom?"

"My mom?" Chris parroted. "She's in the kitchen."

Ichigo scratched the back of his head and smiled. "You think you can get her to come out. I need to deliver the mail and...well...Patty doesn't look very happy to see me."

"Oh yeah! Mom put her there because she ate a Choo shoe! But...if it's called a Choo shoe, wouldn't it make sense for Patty to chew it?"

He grinned. Chris didn't understand the world of shoes that women lived in. The shoe Patty had destroyed had _nothing_ to do with chewing, and _everything_ to do with five hundred dollars or better down the drain.

"That does make sense."

The front door suddenly burst open, drawing his attention. A tall, voluptuous, strawberry blonde woman emerged, tossing her long hair over her shoulder. She wore extremely scandalous, yellow shorts and a white spaghetti-strapped tank. Her feet were bare as she stepped daintily past Patty. She gave the black and brown dog an evil glare before trotting over to Ichigo.

"Hi, Ichigo," she greeted, voice low and husky and frosty blue eyes hooded.

He nodded and held the handful of mail out to her. "Nice to see you, Miss Rangiku."

"Oh, Ichigo," she chuckled. "How many times have I told you to drop the 'Miss'?"

With a small smile, he turned and headed away from the alluring woman. Sure, she was beautiful, but he wasn't into females. Never was and never would be.

"Have a good one, _Miss_ Rangiku."

"Oh, poo," she muttered under her breath as he sauntered over to the next house.

He hid his laughter by adjusting his hat and bag strap, lips pressed together in a tight line. Rangiku had been giving him proposition after proposition, some subtle, others not so much. She was a bored single mother and he wasn't about to be her entertainment. Maybe if he wasn't into men. Maybe.

The next house seemed to loom on the horizon like a haunted mansion, even though it was the same size as the others. It was in shambles, however. The once blue house seemed to lean precariously to the left, while the paint faded and chipped all over the place. The front lawn had to be an eyesore to the rest of the people living on the block, but there was nothing they could do besides complain to the city council. The man living in 1424 Albion Way was a Vietnam veteran and had the whole place rigged like one giant booby trap. Ichigo had long ago spotted the hidden, electrically charged barb wire and the poorly disguised bear traps. It was all kinds of illegal, but Yamamoto was warped. His sense of reality had been twisted and morphed into forever militant.

Ichigo had come up with a routine. The first time he'd delivered mail to the older man's house, he'd inwardly cracked up. Most of the traps were amateur work, but once you approached the slanted porch, things got more serious. The old man had been watching carefully from the front window, creased eyes hawk-like and cold.

" _Get through my obstacles and I'll accept you as my new mail man,"_ a voice like creaking tree boughs had filtered through the dingy, sheer curtains at the time.

Ichigo chuckled in remembrance. Yamamoto had been a piece of work, but with Ichigo's previous occupations, the old man's obstacles had been child's play. A ten piece puzzle: ages three and up. From that day on, the old man had begun meeting him on the porch to receive his mail. However, Ichigo would have to overcome a new test each day. He didn't understand where the man came up with half the things he did, but he found the excitement fun enough.

Today, he stood at the end of the cement path and studied the lawn. Yamamoto sat in the window like usual, watching him, mouth barely turned up in amusement. Where was the trap this time? There was the usual barbwire, which was more like decoration at this point, Ichigo was so used to it. There was also a bear trap off to the side, but even that was customary. Brown eyes roved the yard, searching. A slight glinting to his left caught his attention, but he never showed it. He just peered at it from his peripheral. He wanted to grin, but decided otherwise. Instead he started forward. He took four steps, then stopped. Yamamoto shifted in the window, giving away his excitement. Did the old man really think he would fall for something so juvenile? Ichigo took a huge step over the invisible trip wire rigged to propel nails and shards of glass in his direction. Too bad the sun wasn't on the war veteran's side today.

"C'mon, Old Man. Ya gotta do better than that," he called.

Yamamoto disappeared from the window and in less than ten seconds reappeared in the front door. The man seemed ancient, but had the energy of a forty-year old. He had a thigh-length gray beard that was wrapped in some sort of dark ribbon – Ichigo couldn't really tell – and his eyebrows and mustache were freakishly long as well. He was bald, but sported scarring on the bare template. At the moment, Yamamoto wore a black robe and carried a heavy-looking wooden cane. His body was still muscular from all his days in the service, making his broad shoulders stand out.

"Confounded sun," he growled. "I should have changed the trap before you got here."

Ichigo laughed and trekked the rest of the way to the porch. Once there, he held the man's mail forward. "I think you're gonna need to work harder to catch me slippin'."

"You're no ordinary postman."

"Eh? Don't know what you're talkin' about."

"Ha!" the old man barked. "I may be old, but I'm far from stupid. You think I don't recognize a fellow comrade in arms?"

Ichigo chuckled as he turned away from the conversation he'd had one too many times with Yamamoto. The man insisted that he was an officer, or at least _used_ to be one. Ichigo couldn't give him the truth, though. It would probably put everyone he encountered in danger.

"See ya later, Old Man."

"Huhn!" Yamamoto hmph'ed. "This isn't over, young whippersnapper! I shall have my day, mark my words!"

Ichigo just cracked up as he went back the way he'd come. Rangiku still stood in front of her home, wearing a disapproving scowl.

"That old man is crazy, you know. You shouldn't encourage him," she chided.

"Nothin' wrong with havin' a little fun."

He marched past the house after calling a farewell to Chris, who still sat perched in the window. Some days, he hated his job, but others, it wasn't so bad.

**XxxxxX**

He was hot, sweaty and exhausted. A cold bottle of beer drifted before his eyes anytime he closed them, so he knew it was beyond time for him to head home. He'd gone back to the post office and dropped off any necessary paper work or returned mail for the next day before leaving the building and stalking to his car parked in the lot. He hit a button on the keypad, making the alarm beep twice before automatically starting. Thankfully, he'd left the air conditioner pumping, so all he had to do was wait a minute or two before he slipped inside. Sun-baked leather seats and the exposed skin of his legs didn't mix well. In fact, he'd probably acquire third-degree burns if he got in the car now. No thanks.

He stood beside the shining, off-white Hyundai Sonata and withdrew his cell phone. Nice time to check his messages. He'd just glanced down at the screen when something caught his eye and made the hairs along the back of his neck stand up. He didn't give what he'd seen his full attention, but he was aware of the pair of eyes drilling into him from across the street. The car was parked halfway down the block, but Ichigo could spot a tail a mile away. He continued browsing through his phone, pretending to check his messages before finally slipping it back into his pocket and climbing into his car. There was something very wrong with this situation. He hadn't felt the need to worry about a tail in three years. He sighed and shook his head as he peeled out of the lot. He didn't even need to check his mirror to know the car was following him, but what he wanted to know was why? And why now?

He led the sleek, black car to his modest home and parked in the driveway. As he left his own vehicle, he slowly headed to the front door. He'd shot a quick glance down the street where the car was parked and packed away the information he needed. License plate number, make and model of the vehicle and a brief description of the idiot behind the wheel.

**XxxxxX**

Once inside his home, Ichigo immediately retrieved his cell and dialed a number that would forever be imprinted in his mind. If not from sheer memory alone, then definitely from habit. The line rang five times and he was about to hang up when a familiar voice finally answered, making a rush of nostalgia pulse through him.

"Well, well. Isn't this an interesting day."

"I can say the same, P."

"Ahh, so you have someone following you around as well, then?"

Ichigo froze, then chuckled through a sigh. He should have known. "How long has it been for you?"

"Hmm. Since this morning. I left the house for breakfast and noticed a black car in my rear-view mirror. It's still following me, too. I can see it from the office window. What about you?"

"I don't know how long it's been there, but I noticed it when my shift ended a little while ago. P, what the hell is going on?"

P sighed and Ichigo could clearly picture the man rubbing the bridge of his straight nose and adjusting his glasses. "I'd really hate to voice what I'm thinking. Wouldn't you?"

Ichigo nodded, even though he knew the other man would be unable to see it. It was true. The first thing that had gone through his mind had been "time to pay up." He wasn't particularly scared, but if that was in fact the case, then it would be immensely annoying. Very inconvenient.

"Yeah," he grunted as he plopped down onto his slate-gray, leather couch. He massaged his eyes before lowering his hand and sighing again. "Tch. This is so troublesome."

P chuckled, the sound haughty. "You sound like Grenade."

Ichigo cracked up. That name was also a blast from their past, but P's statement had been entirely too true. Grenade's favorite phrase was indeed "so troublesome."

"I think we need to round up everyone and rendezvous at the old headquarters. Wha-"

Before he could finish his question, he was interrupted by a blast of static, then dead air. He pulled the phone from his ear and stared at it, confused. What the hell? Then, it clicked. Of course. If he was being followed for the reason he suspected, it would only make sense that he be isolated before being taken out. He blew out a breath. This was odd, though. Weren't they being sloppy? Didn't they know that just because he was off the radar, it didn't make him an idiot?

He climbed from the couch and went over to the cordless phone next to the entertainment system. He picked it up and turned it on, only to be greeted with the same dead air on his cell. Shaking his head, he replaced the phone and ambled to the kitchen. That meant his house was more than likely bugged and rigged with more cameras than a movie set. How the hell had he been so careless? He ran a hand through his hair and slowly made a full revolution around the living room. He spotted two cameras offhand. The others had to be more cleverly hidden, but there was definitely one in the air vent and one in the light fixture on the ceiling.

Dealing with the people in charge of this operation, one could never be sure, but the whole setup reeked of a warning. If they had been serious, there would have been no cameras in obvious places. No easily spotted tail. Ichigo would have simply been ambushed in his bed. So, then...what the hell were they up to? Still confused, he made his way to the kitchen, but paused in the doorway at the sound of static. He carefully turned to the source and gave a deep frown. There was a man he hadn't seen in years grinning at him from his TV.

"Ah, Mr. Kurosaki! Or should I call you Agent O?"

The frown turned into a murderous scowl.

"You're dead," he grunted.

"No, no, no," the dark-haired man said teasingly. "That would be you, my friend. Or that's what you had the agency thinking for some time. What's it been, Agent? Four years, now?"

Ichigo swallowed, but didn't answer, the wheels in his head turning at a furious pace. If this man knew his location, knew that he wasn't dead, then that was because...

"You set us up," he growled, hands clenching into fists. "We lost everything we knew because of you." He straightened his back and hid the anger he'd almost unleashed. "Motive."

"Motive? Well, nothing as sinister as you're thinking, I can assure you. I just needed a couple of fall guys, and you and your rag-tag team of idiots fit the bill wonderfully. No one suspected a thing. In fact, our superiors figured your Agent B had finally self-destructed and brought the rest of you down with him. Easy, yes?"

Ichigo couldn't breathe. He was even having a hard time seeing straight. If there was one thing that had been a negative on his record, it was his notorious temper, which was almost as bad as his old partner's.

"The whole mission...Japan...it was all a setup."

"Ding, ding, ding, Agent. Now, shouldn't your main worry be how I discovered your lingering existence? Yours, along with your team's? I _do_ wonder how the bunch of you survived that blast, but I can figure that out later. Imagine my surprise when one of my contacts informed me of one blue-haired self-defense instructor in New York."

The blood drained from Ichigo's face as his heart lurched. "What did you do to him?"

"Eh? What makes you think I did something to him?"

He shut his mouth and stared at the man on the screen. He wanted to rip the dark hair from the guy's head; maybe pluck out the eye that had miraculously survived the nasty scar slicing through the left side of his face.

"I'll kill you," he snarled, teeth bared.

"Ahh-ah. That's not very nice." The man sobered, face transforming from amused to dead serious. "I don't take kindly to threats, Agent. So...shall we play?"

The screen went dark and Ichigo's heart began racing as a deafening bang announced the annihilation of his back door. He only had time to overturn the couch and dive behind it for cover before shots began filling the room.

"Shit!" he hissed as he grabbed his left arm.

Fire bloomed and spread down to his elbow, but he couldn't dwell on the pain. He'd already been too careless, so now he had to make up for the lax behavior. He reached for the coffee table behind him and grabbed the two Beretta handguns taped to the underside. _Fuck this_ , he thought. _I'm not about to die because of that asshole_.

He ignored the pain in his arm and gripped both guns. _Breathe, calm down, focus_. He peered around the edge of the couch and frowned at the sight of six men standing in the doorway of his living room. By all means, he should be dead right now. Why hadn't they stormed his position? Then, he wanted to face-palm when he remembered that his whole property was under surveillance. They could see that he had weapons and knew not to be reckless. This was going to be tougher than he thought.

"Shit," he mumbled. Was he really going to die here? Like this? "Fuck, no," he growled as he slid one of the Berettas behind his back, and tucked it into the waistband of his work shorts.

He eased his hand under the coffee table again and grinned. _Desperate times call for desperate measures, eh?_ He gingerly removed the small grenade from the tape holding it in place, then, still keeping it out of view, plucked the pin from it. He held it under the table for a couple seconds, then launched it backwards. He quickly brought his shirt over his nose and counted to five, registering with a smirk the cries of confusion from his attackers. Thick, deep-purple smoke began filling the room. It made his eyes water slightly, but from all his years in JROTC and the USMA, he was more than used to it. In fact, those establishments had been the sources of his stash.

He crept around the side of the couch after making sure his shirt was tight around his nose and mouth. He was sure there were more men waiting for him outside, but as long as he could make it to the basement, he would be able to get away fine. The men clad in riot gear and carrying assault rifles bumbled around the living room, unprofessionally trying to wave away the smoke and firing shots at invisible targets. Ichigo shook his head and dipped into the hallway. Smoke had filled the small corridor as well, but it wasn't as concealing as the living room. No matter. It seemed like all of his attackers were in the living room and waiting for him outside the house, anyway. He slipped through the door leading to the basement and closed it behind himself before quietly descending the stairs. He grimaced and gripped his arm, a jolt of electricity shooting through it and radiating down to his fingertips.

Fucking bastards.

He was pretty sure there were cameras and bugs down here too, but luckily, he could breathe a sigh of relief. One thing about him: he liked to plan for an emergency. He hadn't had the need to use his "pinch route" since he'd bought the house two years ago, so there was no way they knew about it. He made a beeline for the large rug in the middle of the cement floor, threw it aside, then flipped the latch of the hidden door. Once it was open, he automatically made his way through it, heart rate kicking up again at the sound of the basement door being blown apart. Those assholes sure were persistent. He slammed the door shut and descended one rung of the ladder beneath him. There, he paused to slide a steel slab across the wooden door. After locking it in place, he continued his descent, arm screaming at him the entire way. At the bottom of the ladder, he tore his shirt off and ripped it into strips. Once he wrapped his still bleeding arm, he hurried along.

Hell, he couldn't slow down now. He didn't trust that bastard on the TV worth shit. He did have a bit of an advantage, however. It would take those idiots a while to get through that steel reinforcement door, which would give him time to get to the other side of the long passage.

That was about a mile and a half.

Fuck.

His steps were hurried as he trekked through the damp corridor. He let his arm hang at his side, giving it a chance to rest before he made it to his destination. It still burned and ached like hell, but it wasn't like he hadn't been shot before. It'd just been a really long time since then. He grimaced and quickened his pace. He was almost there. He could smell the strong scent of wildflowers and Summer breeze. He finally hurried through the end of the tunnel, pausing to take a deep breath. The air was clean and crisp here, and felt marvelous against his exposed torso. It was sunset, the blazing yellow orb perched on the horizon and turning the clouds various shades of oranges, purples and blues. The tunnel emptied into a rolling field of purple and pink wildflowers that seemed to stretch on forever. It was beautiful. Too bad he didn't have time to stick around and enjoy the scenery, though.

Ichigo turned to face the tunnel and brought down a gate that resembled prison bars. He secured it to another bar he'd previously installed, with a thick length of chain and a heavy duty padlock. Once that was done, he ambled over to the small barn beside the tunnel and threw open the wooden door. It was musty inside the ancient structure, but it held up pretty nicely. He went to the back wall and after setting down both Berettas on the wooden table there, retrieved a set of keys from a hanging nail, then turned back to the middle of the barn, a slow grin transforming his sullen features. A light-blue tarp covered his most prized possession; a necessity if anyone asked _him_ about it. He tossed away the covering and watched with bated breath as it swished to the ground with a languid flap.

"God, I missed you, baby," he murmured as he let the fingers of his right hand trail across the hood.

After a satisfied sigh, he went to the other side of the barn and threw open the double doors. This was where life would get even more complicated, he was sure. A very powerful man and agency was trying to end his existence, and he only had a handful of friends he could trust to help him through it. Smirking, he went back to the shining, black and white vehicle parked in the middle of the barn. It looked like an alien space craft compared to the archaic building, but his Audi R8 V10 was his lover. It was the Robin to his Batman excursions, hence the reason he called it Robin to begin with. Labeled as the fastest Audi on the market, he'd had to have it. Besides, his salary once he'd returned from Japan had been more than enough to afford the luxury vehicle. He hit the alarm on the keypad and slid inside, plush, black and white leather surrounding him and almost giving him an erection.

"Still sexy as hell, Robin," he said quietly as he reached for the glove compartment.

He used a small key on his keyring to open the space, chuckling when he noticed all of his personal belongings were quite in tact. Wallet with false ID: check. Fake passport: check. Key to the storage room he'd rented that housed all of his funds: check. Two, silver and black P90 Ruger handguns: check. Cell phone with untraceable line: check. Grinning like a madman, he retrieved the cell phone and snapped the glove compartment shut before starting his car. It purred to life, but roared like a lion when he revved the gas a few times. He peeled away down the dirt path that would lead him to the main highway and ultimately to freedom. His Audi had no plates, which was conspicuous, but made keeping tabs on him extremely difficult.

He quickly dialed a number, hit speaker, then set the phone in one of the cup holders. A tight grimace pulled his features into a scowl as he used both hands to drive. Damn, that gunshot made things so annoying. He huffed, however, thankful that it hadn't been a leg or somewhere much worse.

"You do realize there is a bullet hole in my fucking Porsche?" a haughty tenor snapped over the line.

"So they hit you too, huh?"

P snorted and the image of him tossing his hair condescendingly was HD clarity for Ichigo at the moment, making him snicker under his breath.

"Those bunch of amateurs? They only managed to get my car because they caught me unaware."

"Did you get in touch with everyone yet?"

P paused and sighed heavily, which made the hairs along Ichigo's neck stand up.

"P, what happened?"

"We had one casualty."

The words dropped like anvils. Immediately he thought of B and the threatening way that asshole on the TV had mentioned him. Heart and stomach nose-diving, he swallowed and gripped the gear shift and steering wheel. He would never tell a soul, including the man himself that he was deeply attracted to him. Had grown to care for him as not just a teammate, but also as something more. Something cluelessly romantic. If B was dead, what would he do?

"W-who was it?" he whispered.

"Blondie."

Which was no better. Ichigo considered everyone in his team his family, so the news of one of his brothers' death was like being swept from his feet. Blindsiding and abrupt. He winced and lowered his head briefly as he braked to turn onto the highway. There were no other cars on the road, so he motored away, letting Robin stretch his legs as he opened up on the long stretch of blacktop. Silence filled the interior until P sighed again.

"Everyone has agreed to meet at the old headquarters. No one is more than three hours away from the location, so I'll see you there."

"Yeah," he muttered and listened to the call disconnect.

The situation had already been severe, but with one of his brothers dead, a grave aura seemed to surround it now. Ichigo gritted his teeth and clutched the gear shift. Those bastards had officially gone and pissed him the fuck off.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Bleach...

Onwards...

XOXOXO

It was eleven o'clock at night by the time Ichigo turned off the highway and pulled into the small town of Teterboro, New Jersey. Where he was headed was a private jet airstrip, where he and the rest of his team owned a small airplane hangar. Of course, they used fake names for the paper trail left behind, which was P's specialty in keeping covered flawlessly, being the computer genius he was. Someone would have to dig very deeply and thoroughly to find that the business they owned didn't really exist. There was a little traffic at the airstrip, but nothing out of the ordinary. Not that it would matter, considering their hangar was on the outskirts of it. They never had to worry about drawing too much attention to themselves, which was a relief.

Ichigo took the back way to the large silver airplane hangar, almost ecstatic to find the huge door already open. He roared inside and pulled to a stop off to the side of a fire engine red, Porsche 911 GT2 RS. Once he cut the engine and hopped out, he rounded the hood of his car and smirked when he spotted the unmistakable silver outline of a single bullet hole towards the bottom of the driver's door. A thin, pink-haired man leaning against the hood of the Porsche and twirling a set of keys, pushed away from the fine vehicle and strode stiffly towards him. The man wore a white, short-sleeved dress shirt, a black tie and black slacks. Mustard-hued eyes flamed and sparked with anger.

"Look!" he spat, silver, rectangular-framed glasses trembling on the end of his nose. "Look what they did to my darling!"

Ichigo chuckled and held his hand forward. "Sorry to see that, P."

"Heh! Assholes."

The pink-haired man stepped forward, clasped Ichigo's hand and drew him into a one-armed hug. When he was released, P took a step back and gave him a once-over.

"What happened to your arm?" he asked.

"Well, they kind of caught me off guard, too," Ichigo muttered, glancing down at the tattered strip of cloth wrapped around his upper arm.

"What uniform is this? Are you what I'm thinking you are?"

P's voice was incredulous and a thin, pink brow was arched as he went back to leaning against the hood of his car.

"Well, I guess that depends. What are you thinking?"

"You, dearest O, are a postman, aren't you?"

Ichigo shrugged and averted his eyes, more concerned with his arm. Anything to get from under P's piercing gaze. "It's a job," he muttered. "Kept me outta trouble, didn't it?"

"For the most part. Why are you nearly naked? Is that your shirt you used to dress your wound?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Tu's going to molest you. You do realize this, yes?"

He face-palmed. He'd almost forgotten about Tu and her obsession over him. For what reason, he had no clue, especially with guys like Grenade and B around. Hell, even G and P were sexy in their own rights. Ichigo uncovered his face and made a slow circle as he looked the old headquarters over. Nothing had changed. The space was still cavernous, still anonymous and still quite useful.

"Hey, P. Where's every-"

His question was cut off by the loud roar of an engine. Bright headlights preceded a silver Mercedes-Benz SLR McLaren. The sexy road machine pulled to a stop beside P's Porsche before the engine died down and the driver's door raised into the air. A tall, slender form, wearing a short-sleeved, gray and white striped Henley shirt and gray cargo shorts stepped out of the car and sauntered towards them. He had flip-flops on his feet and both hands tucked into his pockets.

"Mah, mah!" he greeted with a wide, toothless grin, silver fringe of hair nearly covering his right, crystal blue eye. "Somebody oughta teach those guys some manners, eh?"

Ichigo grinned broadly. As far as humor went, G had always been a barrel of laughs...and then some. He also had hair-trigger reflexes and favored all things sharp. Mostly knives, though. G approached them and wrapped thin arms across both their shoulders.

"Hey, G," Ichigo greeted.

G's eyes slanted closed, forming happy little arcs. "Haha! O, you tryna prove a point, my friend?"

"Eh?" Ichigo noised, confused. G reached over and pinched Ichigo's left nipple, making him squeak and slap the man's hand away. "P-pervert!"

"Well, yer flashin' everybody wit' that sexy body-"

"Shut up, dumbass! I can't believe you did that," Ichigo mumbled, rubbing his abused nipple as he stepped away from the silver-haired man.

P cleared his throat and took a step away from G as well. "I see you made it in one piece," he offered.

G leaned against the side of P's car, drawing a small frown from the pink-haired man. He took his time reaching into his back pocket and retrieving a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Once he lit up, inhaled deeply, then exhaled in the same fashion, those frosty eyes slit open.

"Those bastards killed my cat."

"Hn," P grunted.

Ichigo shook his head. P had never been a lover of felines, but Ichigo liked them. Especially when they were kittens and really small and cute.

"That's fucked up," he muttered.

G blew out another cloud of smoke before shrugging narrow shoulders. "I got em back, though."

Silence reigned after that pointed statement, so Ichigo had time to observe two of his old teammates. They were still exactly the same. Nothing about them had changed at all, but then again, that was expected. It had only been three years since the last time they'd seen each other.

"Ahh-ah," G sighed, killing the brief silence. "I wanted to be the last one ta get here. Now my dramatic entrance is all ruined. Where the hell is everybody else?"

Ichigo shrugged and leaned against the side of his own car. "No clue. They should be coming soon, though."

P adjusted his glasses. "There's someone else."

All heads swiveled towards the huge entrance, watching as another set of headlights sped closer and closer. Next, came the deafening roar of an engine. After that, sunshine yellow assaulted the trio's vision as a Ferrari F12 Berlinetta pulled into view.

"Ah!" G exclaimed. "And Grenade arrives with a bang!"

The Ferrari shut down and the driver's door swung open slowly before spilling a tall, tanned brunet with sleepy gray eyes and wearing a white tee and a pair of South Park pajama pants onto the ground. Ichigo frowned as he watched the man gradually sit up, holding the back of his head.

"Ouch," he grunted, voice like rolling thunder.

"Christ," P mumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head.

G cracked up and moved to help the man to his feet. Once Grenade was standing, albeit swaying a bit, the silver-haired man leaned close and peered into those gray eyes. Grenade arched a brow, making G step back, toothless grin wider than ever.

"Mhmm," G giggled before turning to face Ichigo and P. "He's high as the moon."

"So it would seem," P snapped. "How the hell did you make it here _alive_ in _that_ condition?"

Grenade gave a lazy, lop-sided grin that almost made Ichigo's heart stop. Good grief, the man was sexy. "Talent?"

"More like an amazing amount of luck, you imbecile!"

"You changed cars?" Ichigo asked, deciding to enter the conversation.

"Mm? Oh yeah. I upgraded about a year ago. It pays making things go 'boom'," the brunet explained, hand gestures and all.

Ichigo chuckled, always entertained by Grenade's Southern drawl, not to mention incredibly lazy antics. However, the man was a genius when it came to explosives and guns. There was nothing he didn't know about them, and nothing he couldn't make explode like a firework. It was strangely what he lived for. That and Mary Jane, of course.

Grenade ambled to the front of his car and climbed onto the hood, where he proceeded to drape himself across it on his back. "I'm hungry," he stated.

"Me too," Ichigo and G put in at the same time.

Ichigo's stomach had been grumbling the entire trip there and it was time to pay the piper. He needed something to fill his protesting belly, or the team would be miserable due to his resulting attitude.

"Chinese sounds really good right about now," Grenade continued. "And a family size bag of ranch Doritos. And Dr. Pepper. Lots of Dr. Pepper."

"Chinese we can do, but unless you plan to run to the store, I don't know where your munchies snacks are going to come from," P griped as he reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a cell.

"Tch, so troublesome," the brunet muttered.

P turned his back after dialing a number and pressing the phone to his ear. Ichigo, on the other hand, focused on the new set of headlights coming in their direction. He was getting anxious, now. In fact, he'd been anxious ever since he'd arrived, wondering when B would show up. Now, there were only two people left to make an appearance since Blondie had become a casualty. He still couldn't believe that one. Tactics had been his and Blondie's specialties, so for the other man to have been completely caught off guard, something had to have been way wrong.

The headlights blinked as another engine roared and another mechanical beauty swung to a stop. Lime green and absolutely beast, a Lamborghini Murcielago shown brightly under the fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling of the hangar. The driver's door went into the air and out stepped a bombshell of a woman with long, wavy, sea-green hair and wheat-gray eyes. Her hair was up in a ponytail and she wore a short, beige, silk robe. She stormed from the vehicle, full lips pursed in a tight pout and wide eyes full of piss and vinegar.

"What the hell!" she screeched, making Grenade wince and cover his ears. "A girl can't even take a frickin' bath in peace these days?"

Ichigo grinned. Tu had never been one to hold her tongue. No one would ever guess that she was a genius medic, either. She huffed and glanced at Grenade draped over the hood of his car before rolling her eyes and shaking her head.

"Really, Grenade? I was expecting the Volkswagon van and a tie-dye t-shirt. Maybe a bandana," she teased.

The brunet uncovered his ears and rolled his head in her direction. "You say somethin'?"

"You heard me, you asshole. Anyway-"

Tu rolled her eyes, but that made them land on Ichigo and widen drastically. _Crap_ , he instantly thought, body already going into flight mode. However, Tu was amazingly fast. She was on him before he could blink, his back thrown against the hood of his car as the curvy woman wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed him like a python. The abrupt movement jarred his arm and sent needles shooting through the wound, making him grind his teeth as he simultaneously tried to breathe.

"Tu, you're killin' me," he choked.

"My darling, darling O!" she yelped into his neck, still not loosening her hold. "I missed you so much!"

Ichigo patted her back carefully, still choking. "Th-that's nice, Tu."

Finally, she pulled back and looked him in the eye. "Didn't you miss me?"

"Er...well..."

"Ooo! I see. We can get rid of the others and you can have your way with me," she whispered.

"Wha? Tu, what the hell?"

"Well, that's why you were waiting for me with your shirt off, right?"

"Woman," he growled through clenched teeth. "Get the hell off me before I break your fingers."

"Ah! O, that's harsh!" she pouted, but reluctantly climbed off of him.

Ichigo sat up, rubbing his neck and chest as he took deep breaths. He didn't understand Tu. She was a gorgeous woman with more curves than the word "Mississippi", and could definitely have any man she laid eyes on. Why she was so taken with _him_ , baffled the mind.

G lit up another cigarette, mouth still pulled into his signature grin. "Good ole Tu," he said quietly on the exhale.

The green-haired woman looked in his direction and arched a brow. The eye contact there was rather intense and made Ichigo ping-pong his own gaze back and forth between them, curious as a cat. But the spell was broken when P reentered the fray, hands in his pockets and eyes narrowed at Tu.

"Must you always cause a ruckus, woman?" he asked.

She rolled those large eyes again before dismissing P with a flip of her dainty hand. "Still a stick in the ass, I see."

"Still a loud-mouthed bitch, I see," the pink-haired man fired right back.

"Better believe it, Pinky," Tu muttered as she went over to her car and leaned against the door. "So, who's missing?" she asked, glancing around.

Ichigo's stomach instantly flipped as he thought about their blue-haired teammate that was still MIA. The guy should have shown up already. Ichigo hoped nothing had happened, especially nothing on the level of Blondie's incident. That would be too much. He didn't think he would be able to keep it together in front of everyone else. Even though he knew what they had been involved with before was extremely dangerous, B had always appeared so bulletproof. So untouchable. Imagining the man dead was right up there with pigs flying.

No one bothered to answer Tu's rhetorical question; instead the silence pressed in around them like underwater pressure. It was obvious everyone's thoughts were on the impossible to tame B. His thick Brooklyn, New York accent was normally quiet until he got pissed, which in the grand scheme of things, didn't take long to happen. His temper was infamous as well as his destructive nature. Although he was efficient with a gun and any other weapon, the blue-haired man preferred hand to hand combat. His techniques were insurmountable, but he was a brawler at heart. A straight-up street fighter, whose only rule was a fair fight. Other than that, the man's personality was unapologetic and so blatantly I-don't-give-a-fuck, it made Ichigo laugh. It was part of what attracted him to B in the first place. That and the guy's absurdly good looks. He shook his head. God, he hoped nothing had happened to the man.

Before he knew it, an hour had drifted by. Everyone lounged against their cars, apparently preoccupied with their own thoughts, when another set of headlights came into view. The car moved considerably slower than the others had, which made Ichigo straighten his back in apprehension. He absently rubbed at his arm as they all watched the vehicle approach. There was no roaring engine, no appearance of a sleek paint job. In fact, the car puttered into the entrance of the hangar and idled before the driver's door opened. A short, dark-haired man slid into sight, hand going to the back of his head.

"Ahh, Chinese food?" he called uncertainly.

Everyone seemed to breathe a collective sigh of exasperation. Ichigo didn't know about everyone else, but he'd been prepared for bad news. Or worse, a poorly executed ambush. P stepped forward and beckoned the man over with a wave of his hand as the other dug in his pocket.

"Yeah, that's us."

The man ducked back into the car before coming up with three large bags. He hurried over, eyes darting at everyone present, then handed the bags to P.

"Forty-one dollars."

Eyebrows shooting beneath his pink fringe, P handed the money over. "I take it everything is here, yes?"

The man nodded, counted the money, tucked it away in his shorts pockets, then hustled away. He kept glancing nervously over his shoulder like he expected one of them to attack him. Ichigo supposed they were an odd bunch, especially with him being shirtless and still sporting blood trails down his arm. Not to mention Tu with her bathrobe and Grenade with his pajamas.

Just as the delivery man got to his vehicle, headlights abruptly swung into view, the sound of tires skidding noisily echoing in the silence. _There_ was the roaring engine Ichigo had been expecting before. His heart automatically began racing uncontrollably, making him subtly rub the spot over it. A powder-blue BMW G-Power Hurricane CS screeched to a halt behind Tu's Lamborghini. The door was thrown open and Ichigo gave a helpless chuckle. B climbed out of the car, wearing nothing but a pair of gray and black striped knit boxers, lit cigarette clinging to the corner of his mouth. There was a cut over his left eyebrow that caused a trail of blood to creep down the side of his face, but that wasn't the best part. B stormed from the vehicle, an all black, sawed off shot gun held over his right shoulder. He was barefoot, his bright blue hair was wild as a tornado and those cornflower-blue eyes were just as chaotic. He had a couple new tattoos on his forearms, but that was about all that had changed. He was still tall, still cut like a statue and...

"So, I'm in the fuckin' bed, right? When this airhead comes crashin' through my goddamned window! Moron, ya know? Like I don't sleep with my bitch under my pillow or somethin'," he stated, accent ringing through the hangar as he lifted the shot gun to emphasize his point. "Rude jerk-offs," he grumbled as he stalked over.

Still utterly B.

"Uh," P sputtered, speechless for a change.

G cracked up, Tu rolled her eyes dramatically and even Grenade found the energy to form a grin. B paused his ranting to pointedly sniff the air.

"I smell food," he grunted, deep voice lowering.

P finally found his voice and nodded. "Yeah, we ordered Chinese. You came just in time to eat. What the hell took you so long, anyway? Weren't you in New York?"

B lowered the shot gun to the hood of Ichigo's car and shrugged. "I stopped for some beer."

"Christ," P muttered.

"Mah-haha! Good ole B," G commented.

B smirked, then turned his attention to the brunet draped across the Ferrari. "Yo!"

Grenade raised a hand in a two-fingered salute before laying back and closing his eyes.

"You're still a barbarian, B," Tu admonished.

"So?"

She chuckled and blew him a kiss before ambling over to P, who was still holding the bags of food. That's when B turned those burning blue eyes in Ichigo's direction. Whenever B looked at him, it was like the guy was always deep in thought.

"Yo, O."

Jesus.

Ichigo swallowed and nodded his head in greeting. He was _really_ focusing on not letting his eyes lower to the man's exposed chest and abdomen and legs and...Lord, his package was _right there_.

"'Sup."

B leaned against the Audi and crossed his arms over his chest. He calmly smoked the rest of the cigarette at his lips as he stared off into space. Why was he next to Ichigo, though? The blue-haired man wasn't the most sociable creature on the planet, after all.

"So, uh," Ichigo started, making the man turn those eyes on him again. "You're pretty much naked, huh?"

B arched an eyebrow and grinned, flashing those dangerous-looking canines. "Like you can talk. Your shorts are just a little longer than mine, right?" Ichigo went to respond, but was cut off. "Hey, wait. O, you're a mail guy?"

"Unngh," Ichigo groaned, covering his face with his hands. "So _what_? It was a _job_."

"Ha! You carried a purse for a livin'."

"Fuck you! It was a mail bag, _stupid_!"

"Annnd there they go," G interrupted. "You guys wanna eat, or no? 'Cuz ya know Grenade'll go through all a'this."

Ichigo sent B an evil glare before stepping past him and heading for the heavenly smell of food. Inwardly, however, he was dancing like a toddler. He was just glad to see the other man alive and kicking, so it didn't matter if the man picked a fight with him the moment he got there.

The food was passed around and everyone hungrily dug in. Ichigo couldn't keep his eyes off of B. The man still leaned against _his_ car, mind you, face buried in a carton of lo mein. The orange-haired man grinned to himself as he stabbed a piece of sesame chicken with a plastic fork. He shoveled in a few more pieces and glanced in the blue-haired man's direction again, this time freezing like a deer when he caught the man's razor sharp gaze. B frowned a little before digging into his food again, but Ichigo was in the middle of a meltdown. What was that? Why was B paying him so much attention now? Three years ago – and even before then – B had always lived in his own world, only surfacing to briefly discuss tactics and whatnot. He always looked at people like he had something on his mind, but that was just his normal expression.

Ichigo chewed slowly and calmed his panicking heart. Maybe the blue-haired man had something to say? Nah, that wasn't it. B never held his tongue...like _ever_. Whatever was on his mind was made known. What the fuck could it be, then?

Finally, G set his carton of food to the side and wiped his mouth. "So, does anyone know why the fuck we were burned like this?" he asked.

Grenade stopped chewing, P sighed and Tu nodded in agreement. B kept eating without even raising his head.

"I got an idea," Ichigo offered, words languid.

"Well?" Tu chirped.

"Everyone remembers Japan, right?" The room went silent. The rhetorical question was enough to get B to lift his head and stare him down, frown tugging at his severe blue brows. "Well, that wasn't just a mission gone wrong. We were thoroughly set up."

G's eyes slit open and it seemed like the temperature in the hangar dropped ten degrees. "Come again?"

"Yeah, O. I don't think I understood that too good," B added, food now completely forgotten.

Ichigo cleared his throat and set his food to the side as well. "I take it he didn't contact you guys."

Tu huffed. "O? Doll? You know I love you to bits and pieces, but if you don't fucking spill right now, I'm gonna cut out your liver and serve it to you."

No one protested her statement and all eyes were riveted to his face, so he sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Before I was ambushed, I was contacted by an old acquaintance of ours. One, Tsukishima Shukuro. The whole Japan operation was a gimmick. We were sent there to basically stir up trouble and die in the process."

The carton of food in B's hand was crushed, lo mein noodles sliding over his fist and hitting the floor. His upper lip was curled back in a fierce snarl and his eyes were frigid as the arctic.

"That asshole," he growled.

"Mah," G said quietly.

P gave a haughty grunt, while Tu and Grenade remained silent. The news was huge. They had all been under the impression that the Japan mission had turned into a fiasco by an unknown informant. They'd had no clue that one of their own had set them up to die. Ichigo frowned and stared down at the cement floor of the hangar.

"I say we kill 'im," G said lightly. "Him and all his little buddies that helped him 'cuz ya know he ain't do that shit on his own. He had help from higher up."

"True," Grenade finally said.

"Yes, but the only problem with _that_ , lies with our lack of connections. We're no longer special ops of the CIA; we can't just barge into the agency, guns blazing," P said, always the voice of reason.

"Not to mention, we're supposed to be dead anyway," Tu muttered.

"There are ways," Ichigo said with a slick smirk.

Tactics and behavioral science were his specialties, after all.

G gave that toothless grin again, eyes sliding shut. "Ya know I love when ya get that look in your eye, O."

"Me too," Tu added with a wink in Ichigo's direction.

He rolled his eyes, mind whirring and adrenaline rushing, then rubbed his hands together, excited and already making plans to get inside their old headquarters. He glanced over at B, who was watching him with an animal-like glint in his eyes.

"We gotta get that bastard, O," he commented.

"Oh yeah," Ichigo agreed. "Definitely."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Bleach...

Onwards...

XOXOXO

"What the _fuck_ , woman? How can you concentrate with that crap blasting?" P shrieked over the intensely pop tune of Adam Lambert's "If I Had You" pumping from Tu's lime green Lamborghini.

Grimmjow smirked as he glanced up at the green-haired woman, who at the moment was poised over him, cotton-ball in one hand and an antibiotic cream covered cotton-swab in the other.

"What are you talking about? This is mood music! But of course someone like _you_ wouldn't understand that," she fired back.

P snarled and balled his hands into fists as he glared machetes at her. Grimmjow could tell the pink-haired man wanted to wrap those hands around her neck and wring her dry, but their current situation kept him from doing so. Tu rolled her humongous eyes and aggressively pressed the peroxide covered cotton ball to the cut over Grimmjow's left eyebrow, making him hiss at the abrupt sting. His hand shot up of its own accord and gripped her delicate wrist.

"Your beef ain't wit' me," he growled.

Tu paused and arched a brow, an amused grin tugging at her full lips. "Aw, I'm sorry. Did I hurt the wittle baby?"

He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes, a scathing remark inching its way off his tongue. Before he could voice it, however, G strolled into view, wide, toothless grin marching across his thin face.

"Tu, that beast ain't in its cage, remember?" he lightly commented.

Grimmjow smirked at the way the woman's face twitched. She looked like she had _indeed_ forgotten that small fact, so he decided to let her teasing slide. He let her wrist go and settled back against the side of her car. He was seated on an uncomfortable black milk crate, the thin material of his underwear doing nothing to protect his ass from the cruel plastic. During the lull following G's statement, he leaned over and grabbed his beer from the floor before taking a long swig. The bottle was still ice cold and perspiring, the taste still crisp and satisfying. He closed his eyes and licked his lips, thoroughly enjoying himself until the singing from Tu's car made him grimace.

"Tu this ain't it. If you're gonna play DJ, ya gotta find a better line-up," he grunted sourly, locking eyes with wheat-gray.

Tu sucked her teeth and pouted. "Well, what do you guys wanna hear? And I am _not_ listening to that screaming shit G likes _or_ the elevator music P prefers."

"There is _nothing_ wrong with classical music!" P snapped, chest puffed with indignation. "It's a far cry better than that whining fool you're playing right now!"

Grimmjow smothered a chuckle when he caught sight of bright orange hair in his peripheral. Suddenly, the current debate wasn't so interesting anymore. O sauntered into view, gingerly rubbing the gauze covered wound on his arm. He was still shirtless, but Tu had cleaned the blood from the injured limb with a couple of alcohol pads, so he didn't look like he'd just fled a crime scene any longer. Watching the man move around took Grimmjow back four years when they'd all still been active agents, an incident that had occurred immediately after the Japan mission.

" _Don't you fuckin' die on me, B!"_

He remembered being a bit confused as he lay in a semi-state of consciousness. O's voice had seemed panicked and desperate, nearly distraught at the time. Even though they had been partners and a pretty tight unit, it hadn't quite explained the tone of despair the orange-haired man had been using. Sure, Grimmjow had been knocking on death's door with an iron fist after being crushed by a steel beam. His left lung had collapsed and he'd suffered a broken collarbone, as well as several broken ribs. He shuddered and absently rubbed the side of his neck. Christ, he could still feel the pain to this day. It had taken him months to fully recover, but as he'd lain there, almost unconscious at the time, O's voice had come in loud and clear.

" _C'mon, c'mon! You can't_ do _this to me!"_

" _O, did you find him?" G's voice crackled from somewhere._

" _Yeah, I found him. H-he's down. Shit...I need help." O paused, but continued a few seconds after. "We're in the lower level, third corridor."_

" _On our way."_

" _B, help's comin'. Just hold on a little," O said, voice shaking and low. A minute or so ticked by before he was speaking again. "Fuck," he hissed. "Don't you fuckin' die on me, B! I need you_ here _!"_

After that, Grimmjow remembered a soft pressure against his lips before he faded to black. The next thing he recalled was waking in a Japanese hospital room under the name Katashi Ito. Mind-numbing pain had been his companion for the next few months, but through it all, his teammates had been by his side. However, O had gone back to his normal behavior of treating him no different than the others, which confused Grimmjow into keeping his mouth shut. He'd wanted to ask the orange-haired man about what he'd said in that building back then, but if the guy was pretending it never happened, then Grimmjow wouldn't burst his bubble and put him in an awkward position. Not to mention, he didn't really want to jump to conclusions about what he'd felt on his lips that day. It was extremely difficult, though, considering it went against his very nature.

Once he'd healed up from Japan, they'd all headed back to the US, only to discover that they were "killed in the line of duty." All of their assets had been frozen, basically leaving them with nothing. Left with nowhere to go, they'd banded together and dropped off the radar. All of them began using false identities and turned to the underground world. Using their occupational expertise, they'd kept the team together and took on hit jobs for a year. They never accepted a job that paid under 250,000 dollars, and had promised themselves that once that year was up, they would disperse and lead "normal" lives. However, it had been O's idea to prepare for an emergency, just in case shit came back to bite them in the ass. Grimmjow smiled to himself, glad that they'd taken heed to their old leader. If they hadn't, he was sure they would all be dead right now.

Speaking of O, the man walked over and peered down at him carefully, making Tu pause what she was doing to watch him as well. Grimmjow arched a brow and let his head list to the side.

What was this?

"Did you really stop for beer?" O asked. "I mean, of course you _did_ , but...like _that_?" he continued, gesturing towards Grimmjow's lack of attire.

That made the blue-haired man crack a wide grin. "Yeah."

"Idiot," P grumbled from his position next to his car.

Grimmjow's grin spread as he turned back to O. "Want one?"

O gave an amused chuckle and nodded. "Definitely."

Grimmjow swatted Tu away, ignoring her outraged expression, and rose from the milk crate, taking a quick second to stretch his back before heading over to his own vehicle. A soft chortle left him as he remembered the look on the guy's face at the store he'd visited. He'd swung his car right in front of the entrance, Iggy Pop's "Lust For Life" blasting through the open windows of the vehicle. He'd casually made his way inside, fist clutching two twenty dollar bills as he made a direct line for the beer section.

" _S-sir! N-no shirt, no shoes, no service!"_

He'd ignored the kid, of course. He'd gone about his business grabbing the case of beer he wanted before nabbing a couple bags of ice for the Styrofoam cooler he kept in the trunk of his car. On his way out, he'd tossed the bills onto the counter and gave the worker a Cheshire cat grin and a wink.

Boxers and all.

He popped the trunk and retrieved another beer for himself as well as one for O. He was headed back in their direction, when G's face fell.

"Where's miiiine?" he whined.

Grimmjow arched a brow and didn't even break stride. "You got hands," he grunted.

The silver-haired man danced over to the powder-blue BMW and snatched a beer for himself, grin cutting his face in half. "Let's party," he said quietly.

"Yeah, but Tu quit her job as the DJ," O chimed in as he accepted the beer Grimmjow offered him.

"Thank _God_ ," P added.

"You know, sometimes I really hate you guys," Tu snapped, hands on her hips. "I mean, wha-"

" _One big room...full of bad bitches...one big room...full of bad bitches..."_

All heads turned to Grenade's sunflower-yellow Ferrari. The man slowly emerged from the driver's side before ambling to the hood again, where he climbed on and proceeded to roll up. It took a minute for the guy to realize that all eyes were on him, but once he did, he glanced up and looked around with a lazy grin.

"One big room...full of bad bitches," he recited along with the song, Southern drawl turning the phrase into a comedy.

With that, he lowered his eyes back to his previous task, head nodding to the beat.

Indeed, the atmosphere had gone a bit festive. Grimmjow supposed they needed it since the mood had been so intense not even an hour ago. The news of Japan being a setup had thrown him so off balance, it made him dizzy. _Fucking Tsukishima_. Grimmjow had known there was something wrong about that guy when he'd met him, and the feeling had only grown once they'd reached Japan and the guy had been placed in charge of the operation. He was sneaky and gave a false sense of security and optimism. It wasn't surprising at all that he'd turned out to be a snake in the grass.

Movement in the corner of his vision brought his attention back to the orange-haired man at his side. O had his head tipped back as he emptied the bottle of beer held to his lips. Eyebrows on the ceiling, all Grimmjow could do was stare. When he was done, O lowered the bottle and glanced at him, deep brown eyes glittering devilishly as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"What? You know how long I've been wantin' a beer?" he asked.

Grimmjow just shrugged and grinned. "I didn't say nothin'."

"Yeah, but your face spoke for you. Gimme another one."

That made him frown. "Somethin' wrong with your hands and feet? You're lucky I was in a charitable mood, gettin' that first one."

O smirked and headed over to Grimmjow's car, the muscles in his back still defined and shifting with every step he took. It took a hell of an effort, but the blue-haired man managed to keep his eyes from wandering to the man's rear. He didn't need that kind of stress in his life right now. It was enough that he was being chased by his former employers; adding attraction to a fellow teammate was a sure-fire recipe for disaster. He never denied his sexual preference for men, but he wasn't sure he should put the moves on one of his oldest friends and partners. In fact, he was pretty confident it was a bad idea. Even though he knew O liked men as well, no matter how discreet the guy had tried to be in the past.

"You got somethin' on your mind," Grenade stated matter-of-factly, words slow as molasses and voice a deep rumble.

Grimmjow whipped his head to the left, shocked to see the brunet standing beside him. He hadn't even registered the guy moving from his car. Grenade had the joint he'd rolled tucked behind his right ear as he leaned against O's car.

"What's goin' on, B? You've had your head in the clouds for a while now."

Grimmjow clenched his teeth together and shifted uneasily. Grenade was entirely too perceptive for someone who got high on a daily basis. But then again, the man was an explosives expert. It was his job to notice the small details the average eye overlooked.

"Don't really wanna talk about it," he muttered.

Grenade gave a careless shrug and reached for the joint behind his ear. After giving it a swift lick, he reached into the pocket of his t-shirt and retrieved a lighter. Before he lit up, he sent Grimmjow a piercing glance.

"Maybe you should," he drawled.

Grimmjow watched uncomfortably as the brunet ambled back to his Ferrari. No one else seemed to witness the man's sudden round-trip journey from his car and back, which just unsettled the blue-haired man all the more. Grenade was scarily fast when he wanted to be, not to mention quiet as a church mouse. But what had he meant by maybe Grimmjow should talk about what was on his mind? Did the guy have an idea of what was running through his head? Grimmjow took another look at his brunet teammate and scowled when he noticed the man talking casually with O. O had gone and half-way chugged another beer, large hand going to the back of his neck as he laughed at something Grenade must have said. His cavernous dimples winked and his intelligent brown eyes captured the light from the hangar ceiling, giving Grimmjow a rolling chill all over. Frowning, he turned away from the sight and pulled deeply from his own bottle. The mood he was currently in made him yearn for something much stronger than beer.

XOXOXO

He was buzzed. Hell, after downing five beers in a row, he was lucky to still have the ability to see straight. Ichigo reclined on the hood of his Audi, uninjured arm thrown over his eyes as he listened to the tunes coming from Grenade's Ferrari. Anytime he removed his arm and opened his eyes, the room spun like those gravity rides at amusement parks and fairs. It was his body's way of dealing with what was going on around him, however. Once the adrenaline had worn off and he'd had time to fully take in the situation, it had hit him like a ton of bricks. He was on the run again, his life no longer his own. One of his oldest and closest friends had been killed, and he was forced to start from scratch, all over again. He had to fight just to gain the right to exist. It was all kinds of fucked up. He'd been in the middle of coming up with a clever plan to get inside Headquarters without it failing spectacularly, when his brain had just shut down on him, refusing to function. Left with dead space in his head, he'd gone with his next best option: drinking himself into a sleeping stupor.

Thankfully, B had done the impossible (or in the blue-haired man's case, the totally expected) and grabbed an entire case of beer to bring along to the meeting. When his wild teammate had offered, Ichigo had gratefully accepted. It was a testament to his state of mind that he went without visually molesting the object of his heart's desire for the next couple of hours. He didn't even bat an eyelash when he noticed the other man's frigid blue orbs all over him. He still didn't understand why, but apparently thinking and comprehending had gone out the window for the rest of the night.

The hangar entrance was closed and locked up, and it seemed like everyone was ready to call it a wrap for the evening. It was silently agreed that they would pick up with forming a plan in the morning, and Ichigo was perfectly fine with that.

A loud yawn preceded Tu's worn out voice. "So what, are we sleeping in our cars? What happened to the mats we had before?"

Ichigo eased his arm away from his eyes in time to see P adjusting his glasses as he peered down his nose at the green-haired woman. "They're over there," he said, finger pointing to the opposite side of the huge room.

Tu glanced around and groaned. The mats were piled against the hangar wall, dusty and abandoned. Ichigo wanted to add his own groan to Tu's when he realized that she would need help dragging them over, not to mention cleaning them.

"You saying I stuffed all those sheets in my trunk for nothing?" she whined.

With a hefty sigh, Ichigo peeled himself from the hood of his car and carefully stood. He swayed dangerously, but evened himself out after seconds. After blinking several times, he glanced around and sucked his teeth at the bodies splayed over the gathering of luxury vehicles. Grenade was curled into the fetal position on the hood of his Ferrari, G was tucked neatly into the driver's seat of his Benz, chair pushed all the way back and feet kicked up on the dash, and B was spread-eagle on the roof of his BMW, mouth opened unattractively as he snored loud enough to almost dwarf the music still rumbling from Grenade's car. Ichigo chuckled, amused. B was an animal...but he was a cute one.

"O, my love, for helping me, I'll give you one of my pillows," Tu chirped thankfully.

He just nodded, body moving on autopilot. He was exhausted and his _aches_ had aches. However, he had to admit that the sound of a pillow and a soft mat had more appeal than an underwear model at the moment. He trudged across the hangar with Tu, sorely tempted to hunch his back and drag his knuckles like a caveman. The next ten minutes saw himself, Tu and reluctantly P carting heavy blue mats closer to their cars, but still relatively out of the way. They lined them up against the wall directly across from their vehicles before Tu skipped off and popped the trunk located in the front of her Lamborghini. She tugged free a plethora of rose-colored sheets and pillows, most of them landing on the floor at her feet.

"Tu," Ichigo started, thoroughly confused as he rubbed the back of his head. "Were you at a slumber party or somethin'?"

The green-haired woman giggled and tossed a pillow in his direction without answering. Shaking his head slightly, he clutched the pillow and accepted a sheet before slouching over to the plush mats. He plopped down onto the nearest one and barely had the sheet and pillow situated when his eyes slid shut.

XxxxxxX

Mouth dry as sand and injured arm screaming profanities at him, Ichigo cracked an eye open. There was something way wrong with the way he was positioned. For one thing, as he shifted, his neck stiffened and made him grimace. For another, there was an unforgivable weight pressing against his right side, making him overly hot and his exposed skin stick to the mat. What the fuck was going on? He turned his head, peeved when he noticed a shock of blue hair resting comfortably...on _his_ fucking pillow. No wonder his neck was so cramped! Not only that, but when he turned his head to the right, the peaceful face of Grenade made his eyes widen and his heart almost stop. Normally, this would be an ideal position, stuck between the two sexiest men he'd ever had the fortune to meet. Not right now, though. He carefully sat up, temples throbbing from his overindulging the night before. He peeked over Grenade's solid body and arched a brow at P spooning Tu, arm firmly around her waist, while G slept with his arms behind his head on the outermost mat.

What the fuck was going on?

Ichigo eased onto his back again, only to freeze when Grenade shifted, turning his face away from him. He was in the middle of blowing out a relieved breath, when B also shifted, his body turning towards Ichigo and heavy arm draping across Ichigo's hip. Air caught in his throat as he tried not to choke and hyperventilate. He tentatively glanced over at his blue-haired teammate, heart racing madly. B was still deeply asleep, but the arm he had thrown over Ichigo tightened as he sighed and gave a slight moan.

 _This is ridiculous!_ Ichigo thought, mind in an absolute frenzy.

And then fate decided to be a sadistic bastard. Grenade shifted positions again, facing Ichigo once more, only this time, his arm came across Ichigo's neck in a light embrace. He too was still asleep.

 _Help_ , Ichigo inwardly whimpered.

He was literally tucked between two very gorgeous men, one of which he was pretty sure he was in love with. If he moved, they would wake up and the situation would be more than a little awkward, but if he remained where he was, his libido would make him do...bad things. He swallowed thickly and tried to relax his breathing. Having a heart attack wouldn't solve the matter at all.

Suddenly, the flick of a lighter and the rasp of burning paper made his head twist to the left. G sat Indian-style as he gave Ichigo one of his infamous toothless grins. He blew out a cloud of smoke before tilting his silver head to the side, eyes slitted shut.

"Mah," he started quietly. "I didn't know ya were so greedy, O."

Ichigo's mouth fell open in shock as he gasped, completely offended. "I didn't _ask_ for this, you asshole!" he hissed.

G cackled and climbed to his feet before carefully stepping over the sleeping bodies and standing over him. He held a thin hand forward and arched a brow. "It's better to get outta there now before those two wake up, dontcha think?"

Ichigo pondered the predicament and totally agreed with G. He slowly extracted the arm B held hostage and reached up, grabbing the silver-haired man's hand. G planted his feet and yanked Ichigo from between the two taller men. Nervous, Ichigo glanced back at them and sighed heavily when all they did was turn away from each other and remain asleep. He felt like he'd just dodged a forty caliber bullet. Now, he just had to deal with G's infernal teasing and God-forsaken grins.

"I hate you," he whispered vehemently as he stalked past the still quietly cackling man.

Ichigo went to his car and checked the time on the dash after turning the key in the ignition, then turned the battery off once he registered the glowing green numbers. It was ten in the morning and his belly was throwing a hissy fit at the alarming lack of food. His mouth watered at the tantalizing thought of coffee and pancakes and bacon and scrambled eggs... A loud gurgle erupted from his gut and made G glance at him with another one of those grins.

"Hey, O," G started.

"Shut up, G. If you piss me off, I'll kick your ass."

"Now that ain't nice at all. And after all the trouble I went through ta get ya outta that tangle of man? Tsk, tsk. Yer manners are terrible, O."

"G, I'm starving, my arm is killing me and I have the hangover from hell. Why would you provoke me?"

G edged closer, that mysterious grin spreading. "'Cuz yer so _cute_ when yer mad."

Ichigo sighed and leaned against the side of his car as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Just-just stop talkin'."

G chuckled and shrugged his shoulders, but surprisingly did as Ichigo requested. He went over to his own car and slid inside, fiddling with something on the dash. Ichigo reached into his shorts pocket for his cell and almost panicked when he didn't feel it there. Then he remembered that he'd fallen asleep pretty quickly, not to mention, he slept kind of deeply, so it stood to chance that the device was still on the mat. Sighing, he ambled back to the space he'd once occupied and rooted through the sheet. After a minute of that, he found the phone and tucked it into his pocket. A sudden twinge in his neck made him glare down at his blue-haired pillow thief. Feeling bitter and resentful towards his teammate, he reached down and yanked the pillow from under that pretty blue head, then whopped the stunned man directly in the face with it. Grinning like the Grinch, he sauntered away, smug and thoroughly enjoying B's disgruntled cursing.

"What the fuck?" his sleep-thickened voice echoed through the hangar. "What the _fuck!_ " he repeated as he sat up and looked around.

Since Ichigo was the only one awake and looking right at him, it was understandable when the man climbed to his feet and stalked towards him. Not one to back down from a fight, he stood his ground as B approached him, aura electric and ominous.

"What the fuck is your problem, O?"

"What's _my_ problem?" Ichigo snapped incredulously. "Are you kidding me? After you slid your heavy ass onto _my_ mat, then stole _my_ fucking pillow, you have the _nerve_ to ask _me_ what _my_ problem is?" he shouted, not even realizing that he was on his toes and pushing his face into the other man's.

B regarded him with sleepy, sea-blue eyes, the bridge of his nose wrinkled. His bright blue hair stood in all different directions, but for some reason, it looked _good_ on him, which only further pissed Ichigo off. His riotous orange hair _never_ looked that good in the morning.

"My back was hurtin' on my car! What'd you expect me to do?" B growled.

"You're _unbelievable!_ Instead of _apologizing_ , you're _justifying_ the fact that you kicked me out of my own space! No one told you to fall asleep on top of your car, you fuckin' idiot!" he almost screamed.

By now, the rest of the team had awakened and was ambling past them wearing varying degrees of amusement and annoyance on their faces. Tu's eyes were almost still shut as she made her way to her Lamborghini, and Grenade yawned luxuriously as he scratched his lower back and headed for his own car. The only one that seemed to be fully awake out of the trio was P, who was in the process of fitting his glasses back onto his face. He stalked over to Ichigo and B and stuck a hand between them, wise enough not to fit his body there in case fists started flying.

"OK, children. There's a lot of work that needs to be done today and fighting each other over a blankey and a pillow will solve nothing," he stated.

B bared his teeth at Ichigo, upper lip curled back. "I ain't a idiot," he grumbled before turning his back and going back to the mats.

Ichigo blinked. Where the hell was B's hair-trigger temper? He was sure they were seconds away from tearing each other apart. In fact, he was positive of it. Somehow, though, B let the subject drop without even _one_ of his infamous smart remarks. The blue-haired man settled himself on a mat, draped a sheet across his lower body and put an arm over his eyes.

_What the hell?_

Ichigo turned confused eyes in P's direction, who merely shrugged and went to his car. After dipping inside, he re-emerged with his cell.

"I need to make some calls and get in touch with some people. If we're really gonna go to Langley, then I need a laptop and some equipment," he said as he ran a hand through his hair.

"Yeah, we're gonna need weapons, ammo, all that good shit," G added.

"Oh _no_ ," Tu started with a roll of her eyes. "This means we're going to a geek convention, doesn't it?"

P puffed his chest and glared at her. "It's not a _geek convention_. We're going to see a friend of mine."

Tu paused and gave P a blank stare before drawling, "Like I said. We're going to a geek convention."

"Shut up, woman," P snapped and turned his back on them.

Ichigo, however, was still stuck on B's curious behavior. The man lay on a mat, arm over his face as if blocking out the world. Maybe he was, but Ichigo wanted to know _why_. The blue-haired man lived to fight and cause trouble, so why hadn't he jumped at the opportunity to get in some old-fashioned brawling with Ichigo? It was mind-blowing.

"I'm not really dressed for the March of the Nerds," Grenade said from the hood of his car, breaking the sudden tension in the room.

His comment drew laughter from G and a shake of the head from Tu.

Good old Grenade.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Bleach...

Onwards...

XOXOXO

"An' I ain't goin nowhere without another gun," B added from his spot on the mat.

Ichigo gave the man a sidelong glance that spoke volumes before he looked around the room. All eyes landed on him at the same damned time, like a perfect harmony. Sighing heavily, he gave his attention to his boots. Sure, he knew a guy that could get them anything they needed, sort of like a 7-eleven. Only, the man specialized in weapons instead of beer, munchies snacks and slurpees. Added to that, the guy was a bit...strange. And that was being nice. He was a cool dude in all respects of the word, but at the same time, his aggression was like a ticking bomb. Not to mention, he had an ongoing crush on their silver-haired teammate.

Ichigo smirked wickedly at the thought and cut a small circle in G's direction. That wide grin was no longer present on the man's face and a cigarette hung limply from the corner of his mouth as he stared right back.

"I ain't goin'," he stated flatly, voice lacking its usual playfulness. "I got a mind ta stay _right_ _here_ 'til ya get back. I got my knives; don' need much more than that," he continued, frosty blue eyes open and serious as suicide.

Ichigo cackled. There was no way he was letting G squirm his way out of this one. If _he_ had to go see the weapons guy, then that meant _everyone_ was coming along for the ride. Besides, not only would the guy be able to get them all clothes, which was sorely needed in most of the team's case – B especially – but...well...this was a rare chance to see G in a state of uncharacteristic discomfort. Ichigo wouldn't miss it for the world.

But, back to their volatile blue-haired teammate. He was being inconsistently quiet. He still hadn't moved from that mat and his arm still covered his eyes like any sort of light was a personal offense. Well, that wouldn't do. Ichigo had been spoiling for a fight, frustrated and perturbed, but B hadn't taken the bait. That alone was cause for concern, but when the man hadn't even had a decent comeback to their argument, it'd stumped the shit out of him. He didn't understand what was going on with B. The man had been acting strangely since his award-winning arrival at the hangar and it was starting to press all of Ichigo's buttons.

He reached into his back pocket and withdrew his cell with the secure line. All of his underground contacts were in this phone and even though he wrestled with dread, he also rolled around in the mud with a bit of excitement and anxiety. He was looking forward to meeting up with their weapons guy, if only to get under G's skin. Especially after that teasing episode the silver-haired man had sprung on him not too long ago. The line rang a few times before an answering machine picked up, the weapons guy's deep baritone floating through the receiver.

" _I'll tell ya if it's important er not."_

Beep.

Ichigo grinned and shook his head. The man was still the same, screening all of his calls. He cleared his throat and turned away from the team's prying eyes.

"Yo, it's me, O. Need to call in another favor, dude."

There was a small pause before the line clicked and that deep voice shouted, "Yer shittin' me, right? Odie?"

Ichigo grimaced. He'd totally forgotten about that stupid fucking nickname and would have been more than glad to keep it that way. With a long sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose and counted to ten. This guy had _remarkable_ ways of clambering underneath his skin.

"Yeah," he finally managed to grunt. "How soon can we see you?"

Another pause, this one a bit lengthier. Ichigo could practically smell the smile on the man before that baritone chuckled over the line. "We? Does that mean my little friend's with ya?"

When opportunity knocks...

"Sure does."

"Well, shit. In that case, you can come right now. You remember how to get here, right?"

"Yep. Might need some rags too. Got ourselves in a tight little spot, ya know?"

The man hummed, voice so deep it sounded like a rolling boulder. "Think I c'n take care a'that. See ya soon, Odie."

The connection ended and Ichigo slipped his cell back into his pocket. They officially had a date with a weirdo. Well, technically, it was G's date, through and through. Grinning wickedly again, he peered over at the silver-haired man. Back stiff and hands shoved deeply into his shorts pockets, G glared boiling death at him.

"I ain't goin'," he reiterated, in case Ichigo had missed it the first time.

Time to put the good old foot down.

"Look, G. I'm tired of being in these shorts, and I'm pretty sure Tu, Grenade and B would appreciate more suitable attire as well. Plus...we need some heavy duty fire going into this thing. Now...how 'bout you stop bein' a baby and get it together?" Ichigo questioned, voice stern.

G's attention slid to the left, wide mouth turned down in a petulant frown. However, Ichigo knew the signs; G was about to cave like a collapsible tent, even if he kicked and screamed the whole way. But the last few times they'd gone to see the weapons guy, G hadn't kicked and screamed nearly as much as he'd used to. Funny...

The silver-haired man turned back to him with a special glint in his eye. "O...you an' me ain't seein' eye ta eye right now; I c'n unnerstand that. But if that ape lays hands on me, I'll cut him open and laugh while he bleeds out. Now...you unnerstand _me_?"

Ichigo fought tooth and nail with his laughter, but in the end, it won with a flourish. He wasn't the only one that thought G's tirade was comedic, though, since Grenade chuckled and Tu cracked up. P was still on the phone and B was still spread on his mat, ignoring the world.

"Yeah, I hear you, G. Loud and clear."

"Good," the man muttered before going silent.

P finally ended his call and turned back to them, mustard-hued eyes agitated. "So, we're going to see that imbecile first, I assume?"

Ichigo laughed again. No love lost for the weapons guy, that was for sure.

"Yeah, that's the plan. Get it out of the way, ya know? Maybe we can keep G from threatening the man's jewels this time," he explained around the silly smile trying to break his face in two.

"I highly doubt it," P replied, tone dry and resigned.

"Smart man," G added quietly.

Ichigo just shook his head and looked around the hangar, the wheels in his brain slowly starting to kick in and rotate. If they went in their cars, they would immediately be spotted, so that option was out. That left their backup plan. When he let his eyes land on Grenade, the man was smiling, small black cell phone in his left hand.

"Already on it, O," he drawled.

"Cool."

"Wait a minute," Tu's panicked voice cut in. "Are you telling me you left Bullet to _this_ guy?"

Ichigo nodded. "Well, yeah. Nobody else wanted the job."

"I would have taken better care of it!" she continued, eyes wide with dismay.

"Hey!" Grenade interjected. "Bullet's jus' fine, you'll see."

"I don't trust you! I loved that thing! I swear to God, Grenade, if you fucked it up, I'll kill you myself!" Tu screeched.

Grenade arched a brow and leaned in her direction, ghost of a smile at the corners of his lips. "You can try."

"OK, kiddies," P started, immediately asserting damage control. "How about we get to destination one before tearing at each other's throats? Hm?"

Ichigo nodded. That seemed like a good idea. Things wouldn't run as smoothly if they went about picking fights with each other at every turn. No matter how fun it was. Yeah, that was his mind-frame, until a hard bump to his shoulder made him stare in astonishment at B as the man made his way to his car. That strong back and firm-looking ass did nothing to distract Ichigo from the ire pumping its way through his veins. B was purposely provoking him if that sneaky ass shark grin over the shoulder was any indication. Mouth open and brows drawn into a fierce scowl, his eyes followed B's progress, mind still a bit numb from shock.

He hadn't even seen the blue-haired man move. However, he wasn't about to sit there and let B get away with so clearly challenging him. He balled up his fists and stalked over in the man's direction, hell bent on beating him like a rug, until P stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

"Move, P," he growled, eyes still on their belligerent, wild child of a teammate. "I won't take long kickin' his ass."

"We just had this discussion, no?"

Ichigo growled under his breath. B was taunting him, doing what only he could do best. Be a complete asshole. The blue-haired cretin smirked even wider and propped himself against the hood of his BMW.

"Let 'im come, P, since he's in such a rush ta get this ass-whoopin'."

White spots danced across his eyes as Ichigo glared. The bastard knew he had a bad temper and knew just how to aggravate it until he was a ball of sheer pissed off. Ichigo hated that about his teammate. But he liked it at the same time. What a twisted outlook, huh? Yeah, he'd learned a long time ago that he was a masochist.

"B, I'll fuck you up and you know it," he snapped.

Yes, it was surely a cocky statement, and yes, it was probably true that he wouldn't _entirely_ fuck B up without getting his fair share of bruises and broken limbs, but he couldn't help it. B irked him to the point of making him run off at the mouth like a teenager in a schoolyard. In hindsight, it was pretty embarrassing, but in the heat of the moment, it felt damned good.

Ichigo's last statement made B rise from the front of his car, what looked like an ominous storm cloud passing over his face. His blue eyes turned dark and narrowed at the same time his left eyebrow twitched. It was on. No amount of placating from P could stop this oncoming war and Ichigo readily embraced it. He watched with anxious anticipation as B made his way over, hands hanging loosely at his sides. That was the bad thing about fighting the blue-haired ex-agent. One could never predict what he was about to do and it made for some nasty surprises. For instance...

Ichigo's head snapped painfully to the side and he lost his balance as B feinted with his left and connected with his right. The blow was heavy and immediately made cobwebs spring up before his eyes, but he shook them away and refocused on B circling around him like a hyena sensing weakness.

"You were sayin'?" he lazily put forth, blue eyes bright and glinting.

Ichigo didn't respond, he just grinned. B had a bad habit of talking when he fought someone he knew. Ichigo leaped forward and right when the blue-haired man threw out an arm to clothesline him, he dodged and landed a knee to the man's gut. B bent double, eyes wide and surprised, but Ichigo didn't stop there. He went on and punched the man clean across his angular jaw. B didn't ass-plant, hell, he barely lost his footing, but he was clearly stunned. His eyes were still wide as if he'd seen a ghost and his body seemed stuck at a ninety-degree angle.

Ichigo made a slow circle around him, grin spreading. "Tha's a good look for you, B," he muttered.

B didn't respond. Smile still in place, Ichigo licked the corner of his mouth and tasted his own blood. That idiot hit harder than a _motherfucker_. He would admit he was too caught up in gloating over what seemed to be his victory to notice that B had finally straightened his back and was currently glaring razors at him. His mistake. Trust him when he said he'd never do that shit again. One minute he was turning to head for his car and the next he was on his back with the room spinning around him like a merry-go -round. Black spots danced across his vision and he felt like he'd suddenly swallowed a jar full of cotton balls. He did, however, happen to register B standing over him with a smug grin as he too bled from his bottom lip and clutched his mid-section.

"Tha's an even better one fer you, O," he stated before stepping over him and walking away.

The shame. Ichigo would never live it down. He could already imagine the unmitigated glee radiating off of G, and P would just haughtily remind him that he'd previously informed him not to fight, thus making it his entire fault that he was currently laid on his back, stunned like he'd just been tased. Tu probably wouldn't have a comment at the moment, but she and Grenade would both come up with doozies later on, Ichigo was sure of it.

He tried rolling onto his side, only to have the room tilt, then spin some more, this time faster. He felt like throwing up, but refused to humiliate himself any further. Instead he gripped his stomach and used his free hand to balance on the ground. It was extremely slow going, but he finally managed to sway to his feet, vision still speckled with dark spots every now and then. He tested his jaw by carefully opening and closing his mouth. So far so good. No broken bones, nothing jarred out of place. At least, he didn't think so. He didn't think he had a concussion, but then again, one never knew. He wasn't really in the right frame of mind to tell anyway, so he turned to Tu, squinting as he tried to make one of the biggest headaches of his life disappear.

" _Now_ , look!" P snapped, disgust thoroughly evident in his tone. "You're in no shape to go anywhere anymore! Fucking kids! You couldn't wait until later to wrestle around in the playpen? You absolutely had to do this _now_?"

Ichigo was barely cohesive, so P's rant went right over his head, and B wasn't in the mood for talking apparently, since he ignored the pink-haired man, leaving the rest of the team to pass wary and amused looks back and forth between the two of them. Finally, Grenade cleared his throat and climbed from the hood of his Ferrari.

"Well, if anyone wants ta know, Bullet's on the way. I called durin' that lovely lil hoe down." No one responded, so the brunet continued, Southern drawl sluggish and way too tickled. "I gotta say, O. Bein' a mail man's softened you up. Ya used ta be faster than that. Then again, we are talkin' 'bout B here, who ain't even human if ya ask me."

Anger swelled in Ichigo's chest and made his pride rear its head viciously. Feeling as though he were speaking with a mouth full of Orajel, he clutched his forehead and growled, "I ain't sof'. I c'n kick his ass. Jus' lemme get the room ta stop spinnin'."

Tu sucked her teeth and made her way over to him just as he leaned into a nose-dive to the floor. What the fuck had B done to him? He felt like he'd been countered, a blow so quick, you didn't even know you were down until someone told you so. Tu wrapped her arms under his armpits and hefted him into a standing position. _She's pretty strong for a chick_ , he absently thought, while leaning against her and trying his damnedest to clear his head and stand up straight.

"B, look what you did!" she admonished, giving the blue-haired man an excellent grade of glare.

"Look! He started it with the pillow fight! Ya don' ambush a man while he's sleepin'!" B instantly snapped.

Ichigo interjected hotly...or at least he tried to. "Stole my...pillow. And...my mat. Shoulda kicked...yer ass...then."

"Sounds like yer itchin' ta have another go at it, O. An' I don' care if yer hunched over an' handicapped, I'll still knock yer ass out."

"You never learn!" P spat, adjusting his glasses. "You _never fucking learn!_ I'm not going to keep peeling you apart by the ears every single time your testosterone levels become high enough to require gas masks! It's ridiculous! We have things to do and O, you should be ashamed of yourself as our former leader! Scrapping like an adolescent? What's wrong with you? I expect that sort of behavior from our illustrious B, but certainly not from you!"

The entire hangar went deathly still. _That_ rant didn't go over Ichigo's head at all, no matter how much he wished it had. P was right. He had a responsibility and he'd let his temper distract him. He squinted across the room at B, only to find the man grinning shamelessly.

"I kinda like that word, P. _Illustrious_. Tha's me all day," he stated proudly.

Ichigo rolled his eyes and finally managed to hold his head up without feeling like it was about to split open. Tu still steadied him with a hand on his shoulder, so he gave her a grateful smile and turned to Grenade.

"How long?" he asked quietly.

"'Bout forty minutes. Bullet stays close to here."

"Good. I just wanna get this over with."

With that, he went to his car after throwing one last dirty look at B, who grinned and blew him a kiss. He grimaced and fought the heat threatening to swallow his face whole. His blue-haired teammate really had no idea what that little gesture had just done to him, and it was best that it stay that way. B was terrible for his concentration, composure, and common sense. It was like the man single-handedly robbed him of all logical thought whenever in the same vicinity. So unfair.

But...at least B was back to his normal self. The guy's earlier behavior had been scary and a bit loopy, something he never wanted to see again. He'd much rather they antagonize each other, while he inwardly fantasized about doing naughty, dirty things to the man.

**XxxxxX**

Forty-five minutes later, the hangar entrance was open and hailing the presence of a black, double-decker tour bus. "Bullet" was written along both sides in a flowing silver script, matching the silver door perfectly. Grenade stood near the entrance of the road behemoth, beaming like a proud parent.

"See? I told ya Bullet was jus' fine," he drawled.

Ichigo grinned at the sight of the bus. It had been their home on jobs that had required a lower profile. Equipped with comfy suede couches, a small kitchenette and bathroom, a large, flat-screen TV and a wet bar on the lower level, and seven individual bunks on the upper, Bullet was the perfect mobile home, so to speak. Blondie had purchased the bus when they'd been doing mercenary work and the thing had become their home away from home. Too bad Blondie couldn't be here to see his baby back in action.

The thought of his dead comrade made hot slivers slide through Ichigo's gut. It wasn't right that Blondie had to die, but what was even more fucked up was the fact that Ichigo didn't even know how the man had been killed. Blondie was exceptionally smart; it was why they got along so well and why their strategies were normally flawless. How had the tactics genius been caught off guard? It bothered the hell out of Ichigo and he wouldn't rest until he'd figured it out. And he wouldn't rest until he'd put Tsukishima in a grave as well. That asshole had it coming in the worst way and Ichigo couldn't wait to deliver. There was nothing he hated more than traitors and liars and Tsukishima was both. Utterly unacceptable.

Ichigo ambled over to Bullet and whistled. Grenade had taken great care of the bus, even adding a few modifications to the wheels and storage compartments. Tu grudgingly admitted that Bullet was indeed "jus' fine" and was the first one inside. Ichigo could hear her noisy squeals as she greeted the driver and made her way deeper into the belly of the beast, the rest of the team following on her heels. The last one inside, Ichigo took in the interior and grinned, widely ignoring the bruise on the side of his head, as well as the slowly dissipating headache.

"Home sweet home," he whispered.

Grenade was already raiding the fridge, while Tu had forced her way into the small bathroom. Ichigo figured she wanted to primp and preen; she was a girl, after all. P was perched on one of the couches, feet up, glasses clinging precariously to the end of his nose, and face looking as though someone had stolen his laptop. G too was on one of the couches, but he sat Indian-style, expression indifferent. Ichigo could tell the silver-haired man still wasn't too thrilled about the impending trip, but he'd get over it soon enough.

Ichigo made his way over to the TV, hoping to take his mind off of things, but was stopped in his tracks at the sight of his blue-haired teammate stretched across one of the suede couches, remote in hand and glowing blue eyes locked on the screen. Ichigo ignored the perfect roundness of B's backside as the man lay on his stomach. Well, he tried to anyway. Didn't quite work out the way he'd planned. The muscular slope of B's back, the way his ass curved and led to equally muscular legs that seemed to go on for days, those thick arms, that handsome face, those brilliant blue eyes...that were looking right at him.

 _Oh, shit_.

Bright blue brow arched, B gave him a look full of curiosity and a tiny bit of confusion. Ichigo, on the other hand, wanted to crawl into the nearest hole and hide away forever. He felt so exposed, like B could see all of his secret feelings, see everything he tried to keep tucked inside of himself. What would he do if B found out how he _really_ felt about him? What if the blue-haired man discovered that Ichigo held much more than brotherly love for him? Luckily, B handed him a reprieve.

"Game's on," he grunted before nonchalantly turning back to the TV as if Ichigo hadn't been visually molesting the shit out of him.

Nodding, Ichigo took a seat on the couch opposite the TV and kicked his feet up, heart still pounding like crazy. That had been way too close for comfort.

XOXOXO

After downing three glasses of orange juice, Gin sulked his way to the upper level. His bunk was on top of Grenade's and he had a mind to stay right there until they finished the business of acquiring weapons and whatever else they needed from the red-haired weapons dealer. Just the thought of the man sent chills rocketing through his thin body. He had a love/hate kind of relationship with that guy that no one was truly aware of. They knew the red head liked him, but they didn't know how attracted he was to the red head in return. It was an ongoing battle for him. The red head propositioned him constantly and he ruthlessly cut him down every time. It had been routine, normal, usual. However, the team had no clue that inside, he trembled with want anytime that guy got near him.

The weapons dealer's voice was deep and rough, body was stacked like a brick house and he looked good enough to lick off the floor. Not to mention, the guy was dangerous. Even though the man seemed pretty amiable around the team, there was an unmistakable sphere of peril surrounding him and Gin always did have a thing for bad boys.

He sighed and climbed into his bunk before sliding the curtain shut for some privacy. He hated pretending in front of the team, when all he really wanted to do was let the intriguing red head into his circle. Let the man get to know him, so Gin could get to know him in return. It was tiresome work, that was for sure. He was almost positive that O was close to figuring him out. If not O, then definitely Grenade. Even though the brunet set up camp on cloud one million with his undying love for Mary Jane, he was scarily perceptive. Nothing managed to make it past him, and Gin was surprised he hadn't been approached by the man yet. Now that he thought about it, it was only a matter of time before it happened.

Gin lay back against his old pillow and closed his eyes. They were en route to Staten Island, New York, so he had time to get a little shut-eye and prepare himself to see the man he secretly lusted for. He'd already sharpened his knives for the team's benefit, much to the amusement of O. Gin grinned. Speaking of O, that guy and B had some hellafied tension going on. Sure, they'd never been able to get _all_ the way along, but it had never been this bad. Watching the two go at it that morning in the hangar had been entertaining, of course, but more than that, it'd been very curious. Interesting, even.

O had always given B sidelong lusty eyes. Yeah, he'd tried to hide it, but the orange-haired man wasn't too successful with that. O wore his emotions on his sleeve when it came to members of the team. B, however, was a little harder to decipher. Or at least, he used to be. Once they'd met up in the hangar after being apart for three years, it seemed like the tension between the two men had ratcheted up to astonishing levels. B had picked a fight with O the minute he'd arrived at the hangar and that morning, O had brought the fight right back to him. It'd blown up like a nuclear weapon, with the two squaring up and duking it out. Fights like that usually ended with both men out of commission, but for some reason, O had been unusually cocky, leaving him wide open to B's swift retaliation.

Like he'd said. Entertaining, for sure, but also interesting.

Three years ago, it'd appeared that O had been the only one holding the admiration stick in B's direction, but now it seemed like the blue-haired man had grabbed the torch, so to speak. Gin hadn't been able to miss the glances and not so subtle looks B had been tossing at the tactics genius.

Now don't get him wrong. Everyone knew that B was into guys _and_ girls, the same way O was strictly dickly, even though he tried to be discreet about it. Gin thought it was kind of cute. While B was insanely aggressive and had testosterone falling out of his pockets, O was more subdued. Unless someone provoked his temper, of course. Then he was pretty much a bottle rocket with a lit fuse. But usually, the orange-haired man was laid-back. He was a thinker, a contemplator. It didn't take an engineer to see the wheels turning in that kid's head, see the ideas flashing behind those maple-brown eyes. But put him in a room with B and all that went down the drain, took a flying leap out of a ten-story window. O became the equivalent to a stark-raving lunatic, foaming at the mouth and intent on nothing but violence. For some reason, B seemed to bring out the worst in the orange-haired man and although it made for some laughs, it was still way too curious to look past.

Didn't take a whole lot of digging, however, to figure out what was going on. Especially not after their little episode that morning. Grinning, Gin turned onto his side and licked his lips. O had one coming, that was for damned sure.

**XxxxxX**

Bullet pulled to a stop outside of what one would think was an abandoned warehouse. In all reality, it was closer to an army base. There were hidden cameras all over the property, not to mention special security on the roof. The weapons guy held no punches when it came to his business and Gin admired that about the guy. It showed that even though he could be a jokester, he could also be serious enough to make the hardest man alive think twice about stepping to him without a colossal amount of backbone.

Gin rolled out of his bunk and climbed to his feet, stretching like a cat before starting the trip to the lower level. As soon as his feet hit the second step, raised voices catapulted up at him.

"LeBron is _not_ better than Kobe, B! What the fuck! Are you smokin' crack or somethin'?"

That was O.

"It don' matter, now do it? LeBron's younger and he's got more time ta hone his skills! Kobe's on his way ta retirement!"

And that was B.

The two were at it again.

"I swear, you two need chain leashes and iron muzzles. You _never_ shut the fuck up around each other and you _never_ stop fucking arguing," P griped.

Gin shook his head and made his way down the rest of the stairs. As he emerged on the lower level, he immediately made eye contact with Grenade, who was giving his customary lazy grin. He was perched on the arm of the couch nearest the TV, quietly shaking his head at the two arguing team members. Tu had her hands on her slim hips, watching the exchange with equal amounts of amusement and exasperation in her wide, wheat-gray eyes. Gin licked his lips. There had been a time, long, long ago when he'd had a thing for their green-haired teammate. So much so that he'd almost made the mistake of sleeping with her. He said mistake because he hadn't known at the time that Tu was already in someone's very acute sights. Not to mention, a few months down the road, he'd come across the weapons dealer and it had been all she wrote after that.

Thoughts of the weapons guy made his heart take a slow dive through his innards and towards his toes. They were there, right outside the man's building. In only a matter of minutes, he would be in the presence of the man he liked a little more than his knives and that was really saying something.

"Well, I don' give a shit! You can't beat me!" B shouted, cutting into Gin's thoughts.

He glanced over at the two arguing men, standing before each other, stances aggressive and pissed off. O curled his upper lip back and gave B a murderous glare with his ridiculously brown eyes.

"You got lucky that time, asshole! It won't happen again!"

P stepped forward, hand going for his waist where a nine millimeter gently rested. "I'll shoot both of you if you even _think_ about fighting again," he said much more calmly than was normal.

The two men paused, still glaring death rays at each other, but smart enough not to go any further. P was a stuck-up geek, but he was a dangerous one. People underestimated him because he buried his nose in books and computers most of the time, but get him good and riled up, or catch him on a mission and he was like a surgeon with a scalpel.

"Now, let's go," P continued, stepping past the two men.

After a little more glaring, O followed behind P, which gave everyone the go-ahead to exit the bus. They congregated outside the garage-style door of the warehouse before making sure everyone was in attendance. Then, O took the lead and trooped up to the door, where he rang a bell and rocked back on his heels, giving the impression that he was patiently waiting. Like he didn't have a care in the world. There was a short space of silence before a loud, game show buzz echoed over the surrounding lot. Gin shifted, trying to disguise his excitement and anxiety as the door raised. Just a little further. God, had it really been three years since the last time he'd seen the guy? It felt much longer.

They stepped under the hanging garage door and made their way inside, O at the front, P behind him, Tu and Grenade in the middle and him and B bringing up the rear. Although it was broad daylight outside, once they stepped foot into the warehouse, the sun seemed to get swallowed up by the contagious state of dimness. The first time Gin had come with O to see the weapons guy, an instant feeling of unease had descended over him and made him question the orange-haired man's sanity. Now, he was just used to the intimidating atmosphere.

They trooped down a long corridor that seemed to glow a faint reddish color until they reached a huge metal door that resembled the door to a bank vault. O hung his head and shook it.

"Yo, Red! Ya gonna open up, or do I gotta kick it down?"

Deep, booming laughter careened through the halls on a loud speaker. "Odie, Odie, Odie. It's good ta see ya again! Thought ya fergot all about me."

O's jaw twitched as his hands balled into tight fists. Gin just grinned and rocked back on his heels, hands shoved into his shorts pockets. He could let this bit of happiness through because it seemed like he was laughing at O's expense. He was, but he was also inwardly overjoyed. Hearing that voice was like getting a tax-free check.

The door clicked and slowly began swinging open, making O take a careful step back to avoid the heavy metal. Once it was all the way ajar, O was the first one to step through, followed by the rest of the team. Gin took the short time to fit his mask of indifference over his face, just so no one would suspect him of his true feelings. He made sure to look at everything in the room except the red-haired man seated in the middle of the wide open space on what looked like a dumpster-green throne, made out of scrap metal and pieced together by five-year olds.

"Odie!" the red head shouted as he rose from his seat. Three quick, long-legged strides brought him right before their orange-haired leader, where he dragged the man into a back-breaking hug. "It's good ta do business witcha again!"

Gin squirmed. He was a few feet behind O and the weapons guy's aura swarmed over him like a mess of flies. The smell of watermelon-flavored candy and Degree deodorant instantly hit him like a kick to the gut. He briefly closed his eyes and allowed himself a quick second of Nirvana. When he opened them, he made the mistake of looking at the red-haired man. Glinting, russet irises made him hold his breath and fight to keep a straight face. The man's fire engine-red hair was hanging down over his extremely broad shoulders, caressing the tight cotton material of a white screen tee that advertised a picture of a rooster, the words "save gas" on top of it and the words "ride my cock" underneath it.

Lord, the images...

The man wore a pair of khaki cargo pants tucked into black, beat-up combat boots, the strings tied haphazardly, as if he couldn't be assed to get it right. A simple silver watch rested on his left wrist, while an abundance of rope and rubber wristbands decorated the right. The only things left to point out were the white bandana wrapped around his head and the lollipop stick hanging out of his mouth. Gin barely resisted the urge to fan himself. The last time he'd seen the man, he'd been a little less stocky, not made of so much muscle. Now he was just salivatingly hot. Grossly unjust.

"Can't forget about you, Renji. There's just no way," O commented casually as he tucked his hands into his shorts pockets.

"Jeez, Odie, yer gonna make me blush here." Renji looked around at the rest of the team, somber eyes taking in their various state of attire. He paused a little longer on B, a smirk curving his full lips upwards and shifting the lollipop before he finally turned to Gin. "There's my angel," he said quietly.

He never could understand how the man could speak so perfectly with a lollipop in his mouth. Hmm...

Gin frowned and looked away, inwardly counting to ten. _Breathe...relax. Never let him see you sweat_ , he coached himself. His best bet was to ignore the adamant red head, which was hard enough as it was, but when the man made it his business to get closer – meaning only a foot away – things became excruciatingly difficult. Renji smelled delicious and looked even better, but if Gin let his facade slip now, he would never hear the end of it. Especially from O.

He slowly turned his head to meet the taller man's gaze head on. "Yer too close," he said softly, hand going to his side.

Renji gave him a sideways smirk that lifted the hair all over his arms. "Not close enough if ya ask me."

The man's voice was a low, vibrating hum that sent shock waves spiraling through Gin's body. "Mah, ya never learn, do ya?"

That smirk turned into a full-blown grin. "I'm a knucklehead. What can I say?"

Gin's hand inched into his pocket, where he kept his trusty throwing knife; he knew he was going to need it in the next few moments. Sure enough, Renji closed the gap between them and removed his lollipop before leaning in next to Gin's ear.

"I wantcha, G. An' I'ma getcha. Might not be right now, but I _will_ getcha in my bed."

Now, Gin could use the excuse – but only with himself – that Renji's baritone voice had hypnotized him. Turned him into a brainless idiot, consumed with lust. Yes, it was brief. Yes, it was barely recognizable. But the fact of the matter was this: he'd hesitated. He'd hesitated and it allowed Renji to swoop in and place a short, tempting kiss right at the corner of his mouth. Gin managed to recover, whipping out his knife and tucking it under the taller man's Adam's apple, but by then it was too late. Not only did he feel himself blushing, but Renji had seen his slip. Russet eyes widened before darkening with desire and knowing.

"Mmhmm," the man hummed.

 _Shit_ , Gin inwardly cursed. How could he have been so careless? Plus, he was sure the team knew just as much as Renji did. His years-long secret was tossed out of the closet with fanfare. Still...he could act and talk his way out of a police cruiser – handcuffed, no less – and this situation seemed to call for a special case of denial.

"Back up, Big Red. Ya don't wanna extra mouth under yer chin, do ya?" he growled.

Renji held his big hands up in mock surrender, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Sure don't. I'll behave."

Gin eyed him carefully, but decided to give the man the benefit of a doubt. He slowly lowered his knife and even more slowly stashed it in the case in his pocket. As soon as it was out of sight, Renji grinned wolfishly. As he turned back to O, he said over his shoulder, "For now, anyway."

Gin growled under his breath so no one would hear him. Renji had one-upped him this time, but only because he'd witnessed something he had no business witnessing to begin with. As he met O's astonished and amused brown gaze, he inwardly grimaced. Just great. Now he had to deal with O's smart ass remarks, not to mention the rest of the team's. He was sure they'd seen that pathetic little episode as well. Fuck. His life would never be the same after today.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Bleach...

Onwards...

XOXOXO

_Central Intelligence Agency_

_Langley, Virginia_

He truly despised when his superior summoned him without any warning; it always meant he would have to drop whatever he was currently involved with to answer the man. However, _not_ doing so would result in his express termination. Most unacceptable.

Byakuya Kuchiki stalked through the halls of the CIA headquarters, mind going over the many reasons Tsukishima could want him. Perhaps it was a new assignment? He'd been cooling his heels the past few months, performing menial tasks that he could complete with his eyes closed and hands tied behind his back. He was certainly due for something much more purposeful. As he turned down the hall leading to his boss's office, he amended his thoughts because Tsukishima's idea of purposeful never quite agreed with his own. In fact, their ideals tended to bump heads and clash more often than not. Byakuya assumed rightly that the dark-haired man used him for his cold efficiency and ability to follow exact orders. It made Byakuya the agent he was today and he was immensely proud of that fact.

He stopped in front of a dark, wooden door and politely knocked twice. After a few beats of silence, a voice on the other side told him, "It's open," so he twisted the knob and pushed his way inside. The interior was the headquarters' usual light gray, the carpet a darker one. The desk was big and also wooden, more than likely mahogany, and the windows behind the desk stretched from floor to ceiling. A tall, thin, dark-haired man sat in a burgundy rolling desk chair, watching him with detached black eyes.

"Ah, Kuchiki. Thank you for coming so quickly."

"You called," he replied simply. The other man knew his summons were law.

"That I did. I have an assignment for you. Do you think you're up for it?"

"Of course."

"Good. Have a seat; this may take some time." Byakuya did as requested and made himself as comfortable as possible in the black cushioned seat in front of the man's desk. With an arched brow, he waited for his briefing instructions. "I have a routine cleaning for you, but it may require you to form a team. I have a few people in mind that you can use."

"Sir, I'd rather work alone-"

"Trust me, Kuchiki. When you hear who you're going after, you'll think twice about that lone wolf status of yours," Tsukishima silkily cut in.

Things already seemed dodgy, but he wasn't one to oppose his superiors.

"Yes, sir."

Tsukishima slid a brown folder stamped CONFIDENTIAL across his desk and waited for Byakuya to open and take a look at it. Once he did, his eyebrows rose in unavoidable surprise. He flipped through the information and photos, hands turning clammy. After he'd had his fill, he carefully gave his boss his undivided attention.

"These are agents. Not only that, but they were officially declared killed in the line of duty four years ago," he said quietly.

Tsukishima nodded, wearing a ghost of a grin. "Yes, that's true, but now we have proof that they're in fact, _not_ dead. We also have reason to believe that they mean to move against the agency, which cannot be tolerated, as you know."

Byakuya lowered his head and glanced through the thick file again. There were six agents listed and every last one of them breathtakingly dangerous. They'd been a black ops team, each specializing in a specific field, and only called in for the utmost secret missions. Byakuya had had his doubts when the agency had claimed them dead during a routine cleaning in Tokyo, Japan, and it appeared he'd been right. But now _he_ was assigned to take care of them, and in the process keep everything under wraps. That was near impossible. No wonder Tsukishima had suggested he form a team. He'd need one to accomplish this task. As he flipped through the file again, something niggled at his brain.

"Sir, weren't there seven members of this team?" he asked, glancing up at Tsukishima.

"Ah, quite the memory you have, Kuchiki. I admire that in an agent." He paused to lace his fingers together under his chin. "Yes, there were seven members of that team, key word being _were_."

Of course. That meant the seventh member, one Shinji Hirako, also known as Agent Blondie by his peers and mentor, was very likely dead. Even though that lightened the load somewhat, Byakuya inwardly squirmed in discomfort. Something felt wrong about this cleaning, but he didn't have any concrete evidence of such, so he would proceed.

"This team you have in mind, are they competent?" he inquired.

Tsukishima nodded with a genuine smile. "They are. I'll contact them and have them rendezvous with you here in conference room four. Tomorrow, eleven AM. Don't be late, agent."

"I'm never late, sir."

With that, Byakuya rose and made his way to the door, file tucked under his right arm. He didn't bother looking back as he left; he had a job to do.

XOXOXO

Ichigo stared at his silver-haired teammate in shock. Had G _really_ just allowed Renji to get the drop on him? And not only that, but was the guy _really, truly_ blushing? He couldn't believe his eyes. He didn't even know G was capable of fucking blushing. He grinned as Renji swaggered over to him, wide mouth stretched into a huge smirk. Aw, damn, G was in so much trouble now. If _Ichigo_ had seen that little slip, then he could be damned sure that the red head had spotted it as well. Things were definitely going to get interesting, that was for sure.

"So, ya need clothes and firepower, right?" Renji asked.

Ichigo nodded, still grinning. "Yeah, we got into a mess."

"The usual shit, eh?"

"Little deeper this time, Red."

Renji hummed, then nodded and stepped past him, where he indicated with a swift flick of his wrist for the team to follow. They trooped over to another garage-style door that was guarded by a big, dark-haired man, holding an assault rifle. He had spikes for a hair-do and an evil gash running the length of the left side of his face. An eye-patch covered his right eye and he wore a grin that reminded Ichigo distinctly of Jaws. Not reassuring in the least.

"Long time no see, Beautiful," the man greeted Ichigo, voice rough as sandpaper.

Ichigo cleared his throat and nodded, trying to hide the fact that he was a tiny bit nervous. "Yeah, been a while, Kenpachi."

Kenpachi grinned and stepped aside after pressing a button that made the door raise into the air, allowing them passage. Renji led the way inside, then down a wide, metal staircase. Music immediately hit Ichigo in the face, bass pumping from hidden speakers and Nicki Minaj exclaiming, "Bang! My shit bang, it bang, bang!" His booted feet tromped down the stairs until they reached the bottom and made a sharp right. There, the room opened up into a spacious sitting area of sorts, where a purple felt pool table and long bar made its home. A black leather couch was situated in the middle of the room and on it sat a tough-looking dark-haired girl, chewing on a toothpick and a delicate hand resting over her crotch. She had a smirk on her thin face as she watched them come closer.

"I remember you guys," she said gruffly, eyes twinkling devilishly.

Ichigo nodded and sent her a two-fingered salute. "We remember you too, Tatsuki. Good ta see ya again."

She grunted before turning to Renji. "Hey, big bro! Got any runs fer me?"

Renji sighed and ruffled her hair as he walked past her to the opposite side of the room. "Gimme a couple hours, Tats."

"Aw, man! Renj, I'm fuckin' bored," she whined like a seasoned eight year old.

"Stop bein' a baby," the read head absently grunted as he stopped in front of another vault door.

Tatsuki sucked her teeth and forced herself back against the couch cushion, mouth turned down petulantly and arms roughly folded across her chest. Ichigo wanted to laugh, but was distracted when Renji punched in a few keys on the security pad beside the steel door, soft beeps chirping over the music. The lock gave loudly and the door swung inward. Renji turned to face the team and tilted his head.

"Pick yer poison, gentlemen...an' lady," he added after Tu shot him a murderous scowl.

Ichigo felt a sudden surge of adrenaline shoot through him, something he hadn't truly experienced since he was an agent. Even during their brief stint as mercenaries, he'd never been this excited about getting his hands on a full arsenal of weapons. Guess he'd never fully buried the urge to hunt and kill.

He wasn't the only one with that special gleam in his eye, either. He took a look at his teammates and grinned proudly, like a father watching his kid take its first steps. P, although projecting indifference, couldn't hide the tiny lift at the corners of his lips, and those mustard-hued eyes were shining like diamonds. Tu literally squealed and clapped her hands together. G smirked, hands diving into the pockets of his shorts, his encounter with Renji obviously forgotten for the moment. Grenade edged closer wearing a lazy grin, but his gray eyes belied his anxiety, glittering with poorly disguised mischief. Ichigo could tell he was just itching to get his hands on some explosives. And then there was B. Still disgustingly sexy in only his underwear, he stood to the the left of Grenade, wide mouth curved into a toothy smirk. From the sharpness in those brilliant blue eyes, Ichigo knew the predator was alive and prowling.

They collectively moved to the vault of destructive goodies, Renji already inside and grinning hugely as he removed the lollipop from his mouth and stood out of the way. Ichigo pivoted once he entered, heart tap-dancing its way north. The red head had definitely upgraded and expanded. There was a plethora of guns: pistols, rifles, shot-guns... The guy had explosives of every kind: missile launchers, land mines, grenades... The list went on. Hell, Ichigo even spotted accessories like scopes, laser points, silencers and more. It was a fucking smorgasbord of death encouragement. No wonder the man kept his business under padlock and key. If he was sloppy and ended up caught with all this shit, he'd never see the light of day again.

B's deep voice rumbled from behind a rack of sleek, black Glock .45s. "Holy shit, I got a fuckin' stiffy."

"Animal," P absently commented as he perused a rack of M-16s.

G cackled as he studied a wall of knives, swords and daggers, while Grenade ignored everything around him, face buried in a crate full of his namesake. Tu had her hands wrapped around a pair of Sig Sauer P220s, pouty lips forming an impish grin. Ichigo rolled a fifty caliber bullet between his fingers and cracked a grin worthy of the Joker as he turned to Renji.

"I owe you, man."

The red head shrugged and stuck his lollipop back in his mouth. "Yer good fer it. S'why I do business witcha in the first place, Odie."

Ichigo nodded and went back to browsing the bargain basement full of mouthwatering weaponry, feeling like he'd just stepped right through the big, pearly gates of heaven.

XOXOXO

Grimmjow growled down at his current attire. Remind him to never take clothes from that idiot weapons dealer again. He didn't do skin-tight, and the black, short-sleeved tee he wore defied even that. The child-sized shirt along with khaki cargo shorts and black combat boots was enough to have him ready to have an epileptic fit. This wasn't his style at all. As a matter of fact, he felt more like the weapons dealer's fucking mini-me.

They were back on the bus, their precious cargo loaded into the storage compartments on the side of the hulking vehicle. Grimmjow glared over at his orange-haired teammate, still a little peeved about how his morning had started off. How dare that prick wake him up with a pillow to the face? But that was fine; it hadn't gotten under his skin until O'd started yelling at him and then called him an idiot. Don't ask him why that'd gotten to him, but it had. From there, shit had just degenerated like it normally did between them, only now it seemed a lot hotter, in both good and bad ways. O was a sexy motherfucker when he got all pissed and scrappy, those expressive brown eyes alive with danger. Even though he tried to ignore it, shit like that turned Grimmjow on. He couldn't help it if he was attracted to passion and power, and O just topped it off with a healthy dose of intelligence.

Grimmjow could remember like it was yesterday their mission days, when O would be in full throttle, him and Blondie hashing out a plan to get them in and out successfully. Seeing those brain cogs at work was like watching top-notch porn for the blue-haired man. So, to avoid sprouting a woody during the team huddle, he'd usually ended up tuning things out until it was go-time, where he'd pull either Grenade or G to the side and have them rehash. It'd been annoyingly frustrating being silently attracted to his teammate, but once Japan had come around, the situation seemed magnified by a million degrees.

He wanted to just walk up to O and ask if what he'd felt in Japan had indeed been a kiss. He needed to know; the fucking _not_ knowing was driving him nuts. But if he did that, and especially in this predicament, he could kiss all of his will and composure away. There'd be no way in the sauna down under he'd be able to keep his hands off the orange-haired man. So, he opted for cluelessness. It didn't feel good, but it damned sure kept him out of trouble.

Once he and O had worked off some aggression in the form of good old hand-to-hand combat, they'd distanced themselves from one another. Grimmjow didn't need the extra stress and he was sure O felt the same way. _Too bad, though_ , he thought as he watched O shift on one of the couches near the TV. There were a million different things he wanted to do to the red head, but that was _so_ unwise. Therefore, he let the idea of him getting his hands around Tsukishima's throat soothe and deter him. Much better. He kicked his feet up on his own commandeered couch and settled in to watch the basketball game playing on the big screen. He did _not_ toss O subtle admiring looks.

OK, who the fuck was he kidding? He stared the man down like his eyesight depended on it.

O no longer wore those dark-blue mail man shorts and ugly black boots. He sported black khaki pants and a black tee that read, "I have the dick, so I make the rules" across the front. Black and white Vans kept his toes company. Lucky bastard. Not to mention, although the shirt was a lot less tight than Grimmjow's, it still managed to mold wondrously to the man's lithely muscular frame. Shit, he wanted to lick his lips and drag the man up to his bunk. Maybe keep him there forever, or at least until they'd screwed several times over. Just as his thoughts were getting down and dirty, P's angry voice cut into them.

"And this coming from Lara Croft's twin? I don't think so, Tu."

"Har, har, har. Very funny, P," Tu stated dryly. "At least I don't look like I stepped out of the Revenge of the Nerds cast."

B watched the two – who bickered almost as much as he and O did – file down the stairs, P out front and Tu trailing behind him. Now, he might be a guy, but he had pretty adept intuition and his instincts were almost always on point. For example, he'd noticed when G had been on the verge of spiriting away with Tu years before when they'd all still been agents; those looks and slight touches had been more than enough to tip him off. And you'd have to be blind not to notice the shit happening between G and their red-haired weapons dealer. He'd also noticed whenever they'd gone on missions and managed a little down time, how O would mysteriously disappear, how sometimes he'd catch the guy looking _other_ guys over in ways that weren't merely friendly. He'd noticed _all_ of that. So, it wasn't too surprising that he'd noticed the escalating intensity of the arguing between P and Tu.

He had to tip his hat to P, though. That dude had kept his attraction to their green-haired teammate tightly guarded. No lusty looks, no suggestive touches, nothing. He'd only griped at her like he couldn't stand her very existence. But that was where he'd fucked up. Grimmjow smiled to himself as he watched them toss obscenities at each other. P was one of the calm ones of the group – not the calmest one; that title belonged to Grenade hands down – so, for him to lose his cool at Tu was mighty fucking curious. He shook his head and turned back to the game, still wearing an all-knowing smirk. And then P had to go and ruin his good mood.

"Ishida is in Baltimore, so once we stop there, we can head straight for Langley. O, I'm assuming you're waiting for the prints before you devise a plan in that hot head of yours?"

O snorted without even looking away from the TV. "You're one to talk about a hot head, P. Weren't you and Tu just regaling us with your versions of Married With Children?"

Grimmjow normally would have laughed, but his mind was busy replaying one word. He raised a hand to get the pink-haired man's attention.

"'Scuze me, P. But did you just say _Ishida?_ "

P turned to him wearing a sadistic sideways smirk. "Indeed."

"As in _Uryuu fucking Ishida?_ "

"The very same."

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. After that, he rose and headed for the stairs leading to the upper level. Well, that settled it. "Call me when we're on the way ta Langley."

O's deep voice rang with amusement as he howled with laughter. Asshole. _O_ didn't have a creepy nerd chasing after him trying to grab his ass...among other places. He was halfway up the stairs when he nonchalantly called down to his orange-haired teammate.

"Fuck you, O."

He stomped to his bunk – that just so happened to be right below O's – kicked off the ugly boots on his feet, then climbed into his office. He drew the curtain and lay on his back, arms behind his head. Unlike G, he wasn't hiding a secret attraction to P's little tech buddy. In fact, he hated that skinny, glasses-wearing fucker. Uryuu Ishida was ruler of all things electronic, coming second only to P. He lived in a humming, wire-filled building that he liked to call his bat cave, and when he wasn't pouring over his toys, he buried his schnoz in a mountainous collection of comic books. The guy would be OK – tolerable even – if he hadn't decided to set his sexual sights on Grimmjow. The man pursued him voraciously whenever P decided they needed to pay dude a visit. The first time it'd happened, Grimmjow hadn't even realized it...until Ishida'd palmed his ass and hummed how nice it was. He'd been a millisecond away from shooting the geek between his dark-blue eyes, when P had reminded him that they were in dire need of his assistance. So, there'd gone that option.

He blew out an aggravated breath. He really didn't want to go, didn't feel like being subjected to that kind of grating humiliation. There was nothing more mortifying than having his body parts openly groped by someone he was miles away from being attracted to. But he knew G would give him shit and O would cackle in his face and call him a blue coward. He'd done it before and Grimmjow was sure the man wouldn't even hesitate to do it again. And honestly, if the roles were reversed, he'd be the same way. He'd harass the shit out of the orange-haired man.

Fuck.

A noise on the stairs made him roll his eyes and suck his teeth. That had to be one of the two people he'd just listed. His bet leaned towards the silver-haired G, however. The guy would smile amiably, frost-blue eyes slitted shut as he proceeded to grill Grimmjow and tell him it wouldn't be fair if he didn't go, since he'd suffered through going to the weapons dealer. As if the man hadn't gained absolute pleasure from their trip to see the guy. Asshole. The floor creaked and he turned his back to the curtain closing him in from the rest of the world.

"Knock, knock."

He growled. "Get the fuck outta here, O."

"Aw, come on. Little pig, little pig, let me in," his teammate sang softly.

He refused to admit how he almost grew a log in his shorts at the sound of O's husky baritone. Nope.

"Whatcha want? Gonna tell me how I should stop bein' a baby like ya did G?"

"Not really. See, you already know you're bein' a baby, so I don't gotta tell ya that. Gonna open up, now?"

He rolled over and glared at the white curtain before snatching it aside and giving the same glare to O, who was bent at the waist peering in at him. God, O and his eyes were something out of romance novels. Not that he'd know that. He never read those things; not even when he was bored and it was raining out. No way.

"Scoot over, knucklehead," the orange-haired man chuckled.

And then there was that laugh, of course. Most times Grimmjow tried to pretend that it annoyed the hell out of him, but the cold reality was: he enjoyed it more than he should. Hell, he wanted to be the cause of it. He slid over on the full-sized mattress and O ducked inside, bringing his unique smell of fresh clothes and cinnamon with him.

"So, what's the occasion, oh, fearless leader?" he grunted, laying once more on his back and giving O a sideways glance.

"Heh. I got bored down there listenin' ta P and Tu engage in verbal foreplay. Plus, they were yellin' over the game."

Grimmjow turned his head fully to look at his teammate. "Ya noticed, huh?"

O scoffed and rolled whiskey-brown eyes. "Yep. I noticed."

Silence descended and made Grimmjow want to fidget, which was something he just didn't do. This peaceful conversation with O was strange. They didn't talk quietly like old friends; they argued, they fought, they cursed each other the fuck out. It was what they were comfortable with. This was new. Maybe even had potential to be nice. But _why_ was it happening?

O sat with his back to the foot of the bunk, right leg drawn up under his left. His eyes were focused on his hands in his lap, but they also seemed distant. Like the guy was thinking hard about something. Grimmjow cocked his head to the side and stared. He let his eyes lazily travel over O's spiky, violently orange hair that seemed to have golden highlights in some places, let them shift over the man's slender face and angular jaw, down over his lips that were pressed together, and down further to his gently rising and falling chest. He wouldn't go lower because that was just asking for trouble. ...On second thought, trouble was his middle name. His greedy eyes slid down over O's firmly muscled chest hidden by that damned shirt, down to his long, equally ripped legs, disguised by dark khaki fabric, where he paused and let his roaming gaze linger between them. He wondered what O was working with below the waist. Briefly. Then, his eyes were on the move again, this time heading back up to watch the man's face. Only, when he did that, he almost bit off his tongue in shock at the sight of those perceptive brown eyes watching him right back. Thin orange brows were arched in surprise and suddenly, heat flooded Grimmjow's face. He swallowed and looked away, heart doing Tae-Bo in his chest.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit...

Erratic breaths fluttered past his lips as he willed himself calm. His bunk felt like it'd just burst into flames, it was so hot. He was not going to sweat, he was not going to sweat, he-

"B."

Oh, shit, yes he was. It sprouted over his top lip and dampened his hairline. It even formed under his arms. He had a bad feeling about what was going to happen next. But...not one to run too far from shit that made him squirm, he turned back to O and hit him with his full-on gaze.

"Yeah?"

O was frowning. His mouth was quirked to the side as he obviously went over what he wanted to say in his head, and his hands were clamped together. Finally, he shrugged.

"Nothin'."

Well, that wasn't right. Wasn't what he'd been expecting, either. O rose from the bed and started to leave the bunk, but Grimmjow grabbed his wrist. He couldn't take it anymore. He _had_ to know what'd happened in Japan and damn the consequences. The orange-haired man froze and looked back at him, brown eyes almost panicked.

"O, wait." O visibly swallowed before nodding, but he didn't sit back down. OK, fine. As long as he was listening. "I been meanin' ta ask ya 'bout somethin'."

His teammate seemed to have recovered because he arched a brow sarcastically. "Something like what?"

Grimmjow locked eyes with him and gave him his most serious, I-mean-business look. "'Bout what happened in Japan."

He saw it. O tried to hide it, but it'd flashed behind his eyes like a bolt of lightening. Fear. Then it was gone and O was scowling.

"You got hurt, B. I thought you remembered all that?"

"Yeah, I do. I remember somethin' else too, though, an' tha's wha's botherin' me. It's there, but it ain't clear as everything else."

"I don't understand," O said softly, although by the tone of his voice, it was clear that he understood perfectly; he just didn't want Grimmjow to say it.

Fuck that.

He let go of the guy's wrist and ran a hand through his hair, sighing. "I remember that beam fallin' on me an' me losin' some time, but then I came to a little. I couldn't get my eyes ta open, but I could hear some things." He paused and watched O shift his weight, scowl deepening. "I heard _you_."

O swallowed again. "A-ah. Yeah, I was the one that found you."

"Yeah, I remember ya tellin' me that after I woke up in that hospital. But...ya remember whatcha said?"

"Not really."

O was lying. It was written all over his face.

Grimmjow grunted and rose to one elbow. "Well, _I_ do. But that ain't the issue. I need yer help clearin' somethin' up."

"B, I don't think-"

"O, did you kiss me?"

The orange-haired man's face caught fire and burned a deep maroon as he averted his eyes. Bingo. That was all the answer Grimmjow really needed, but he wanted to hear O say it. He wanted that concrete, immovable proof that his feisty teammate had indeed kissed him and told him he'd needed him. Just as he went to ask again, a commotion on the stairs gave O the excuse he needed to get away.

"Mah, Grenade, that ain't the point, mah friend," G's voice drifted over towards them.

Grimmjow gave O a stern look that told the guy they weren't done with this conversation, but O just pressed his lips together and stalked off. Fucking hell, he could shoot G and Grenade for their piss ass timing. But then again, if he went by the look that'd been on O's face, he had the answer he'd been wondering about since the incident had occurred. However, that simply presented another problem.

How should he wrestle the confession out of his teammate?


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Bleach...

Onwards...

_I see your motives inside...decisions to hide._

_Back off, I'll take you on_

_Headstrong to take on anyone_

_I know that you are wrong_

_Headstrong, we're headstrong_

_Back off, I'll take you on_

_Headstrong to take on anyone_

_I know that you are wrong_

_And this is not where you belong_

_I can't give everything away_

_I won't give everything away_

_-Trapt-_

XOXOXO

He paced the small kitchenette, trying to rid the wildness in his eyes. He was failing...astoundingly. Tu watched him with way too much amusement, but he couldn't bring himself to stop moving. When he got nervous, when he got agitated and bothered...he grew restless. He couldn't sit still and everything anyone said to him got under his skin. And presently, Ichigo was in the middle of an epic fucking meltdown.

B had gone and turned him into a certified basket case. Not only had his teammate been somewhat conscious during the orange-haired man's emotional episode in Japan, but he'd been aware of the kiss, too. It may have been in passing, but the fact of the matter was this: B knew! What was Ichigo supposed to do now? Every time he turned the situation over in his mind, he came up empty. He'd planned to keep his feelings towards the blue-haired miscreant as a stowed away file in the back of his subconscious, only accessible to himself. Now, all that was shot to hell. God, he couldn't get the look in those paralyzing blue eyes out of his head. B had been so serious. And it wasn't like Ichigo hadn't been able to tell the shit was about to hit the fan before it had. He'd just foolishly hoped it wouldn't. He slapped his forehead in frustration, drawing a quiet smirk from Tu as she sat perched across the room on one of the couches. He ignored her. He didn't have time to deal with her amusement; he was too busy trying to figure out how to overcome this latest crisis.

OK, when he'd gone to the upper level of the bus, he'd only planned to tease the blue-haired bundle of pissed off gorgeous. _However_ , even the best laid plans have potential to fall apart. But he would admit, he'd held up nicely, starting an amiable kind of conversation with B, in which fists didn't fly and testosterone amounts weren't grotesque. Well, that'd lasted all of maybe two minutes before Ichigo had gone quiet, going over a few things in his head. The silence had stretched and become damned near palpable, and that'd drawn his attention to his abnormally silent teammate. That was about when things had gone down the toilet. He hadn't been prepared to find B's ridiculously blue eyes taking in his body with unconcealed hunger. He hadn't been prepared to see B staring him down like the man was nanoseconds away from manhandling him and enthusiastically Christening that bunk. Yeah, that just hadn't been part of the expected.

But...as if that wasn't bad enough as it was, B'd brought down Ichigo's world with a resounding, horrifying crash. So, _that_ was why the barbarian had been acting so strangely towards him. Looking at him like he was contemplating all the ways he wanted to kill him and shit. It made a lot more sense now that Ichigo knew the guy was aware of the kiss. His stomach rolled as his mind went where he'd tried to keep it from venturing for a few years now. Yes, he considered B invincible and indestructible, but the truth was: it was his mind's way of dealing with the man's almost-death in Japan. Sort of like denial at its best.

**Tokyo, Japan**

**October 2008**

_Ichigo scrambled to the left, eyes wild and hands going over his head, defending it from falling debris. P, Grenade, and Tu crouched on a metal catwalk about twenty feet above him, eyes equally wide and panicked as they watched part of the roof cave in. That wasn't the bad part. Ichigo took in his surroundings with a quick sweep of the eyes, heart clambering like an old-fashioned fire alarm. His pulse was so strong, he could feel it in his sandpaper-dry mouth. How had things gone so fucking wrong in such a short space of time? It was ludicrous to think of, especially considering the individuals of his team. Smoke, fire and the crumbling material of the building they were ensconced in, inhibited his vision and breathing, but his mind was far from that._

" _B!" he yelled into the din of destruction._

_G appeared at his elbow, scaring the shit out of him for the briefest of seconds. "D'ya see him?"_

_Ichigo shook his head frantically, back to peering through the thick, dark smoke. Where the hell was his teammate? Why couldn't he find him? He'd been right next to him a minute before the explosion. And then a figure in the dark cloud emerged, limping and favoring its left shoulder. When it got closer, Ichigo tried his hardest not to sag with disappointment._

_Blondie edged towards him, blood tracking down the side of his head. "The floor's gone," he coughed, golden-brown eyes watering._

_Ichigo felt his stomach hit the ground. Hard. "What?" he croaked in disbelief._

" _It's gone! There's a hole 'bout ten feet wide – O, where the fuck ya goin'?"_

_Ichigo was deaf to his teammate's call. Please, God, it couldn't be true. He jogged in the direction Blondie had come from, and pulled up short just in time to miss tumbling into the hole the guy'd mentioned. He got down on all fours and waved away the annoying, vision-hampering smoke, coughing and grumbling the whole while. When he stared down into the hole, he didn't see anything at first. Then his sight sharpened briefly, allowing him a glimpse of the lower level, cluttered with debris and parts of the collapsed building. It was about a fifteen foot drop, and he'd be able to make it if he levered himself over the edge and hung by his hands before jumping. He was in the middle of snatching off the black jacket he wore, when G appeared beside him again._

" _I'll give ya a hand," he grunted, lowering himself beside the hole as well._

_Ichigo nodded gratefully, but his eyes were still panicked and frightened at what he might find. God, if B was down there, his condition couldn't even be remotely good. And that scared the hell out of Ichigo._

_G took Ichigo's discarded jacket at the same time that Blondie limped over. He looked like he wanted to protest, but one thing about the team: they all knew that Ichigo could be quite the stubborn jackass when he felt like it. Now was definitely one of those times. He'd override anyone even thinking to disagree with his decision to leap into the unknown for their teammate. Hell, their friend._

" _Blondie, I'm goin'," he stated, voice strong and clear just in case the other tactics specialist didn't get it by now._

" _Yeah, I know. Jus' be careful down there, O."_

" _Where's yer earpiece?" G asked._

_Ichigo felt both of his ears and shook his head. He must've lost it during the blast._

" _Take mine," Blondie offered, already holding out a small, dark object. "It's still workin'."_

" _Thanks," Ichigo grumbled as he fit the piece into his right ear._

_He climbed over the edge of the hole after adjusting the gun in his thigh holster. There, G gripped his wrists, while Blondie sat on G's slender legs. With the extra length, the drop was reduced to almost nothing. He nodded at G, indicating the silver-haired man could let him go now. His feet hit the floor with a dull thud, and he immediately went down. He'd slightly turned his ankle and lost his balance on the uneven floor of the lower level. There wasn't as much smoke where he was now, but the damage from the blast had destroyed almost everything. Ichigo waved away debris dust and drew his Glock before standing and creeping forward into the semi-darkness._

_He wanted to call out his partner's name, but knew that was unwise. Enemies could still be lurking around and he wasn't too keen on giving away his position. A boom like distant thunder sounded from above, so he pressed the button on the earpiece and spoke into the speaker._

" _Everything alright up there?"_

_G's voice answered. "'Bout alright as alright c'n be in this situation, O. Ya find 'im yet?"_

" _No, not yet."_

_Ichigo took that as his cue to keep moving, eyes alert and heart still rapidly pounding. His arms were trained in front of him, grip sure on his gun. He rounded a corner, noting a small square plaque glued to the wall with a three on it, noted another hole from above, as well as the gaping one in the wall opposite him...and then he tripped. He regained his footing almost immediately, but glanced down to see what he'd damned near fallen on top of, and his heart froze for several excruciating seconds._

_Bloody, matted blue hair and a pale face were the only things Ichigo focused on at first. B's eyes were closed, but his lips were parted and turning an eerie shade of blue. Ichigo was vaguely aware of a small cry leaving him as he dropped to his knees beside his downed comrade, but his body was on autopilot, conveniently ignoring all of his training as he lifted away chunks of building and rocks. The uncovering revealed B's solid black tee that was ripped and had dark splotches on it – damn the man for not wearing his Kevlar! – and heavy duty, black cargo pants. Underneath the debris was a wicked-looking steel beam, resting over the left upper side of the blue-haired man's torso._

" _Oh, shit, B," Ichigo whispered, devastated._

_The man looked dead. His body was completely still, face pale as the moon, and lips almost a dark blue now. It scared the hell out of Ichigo as he put his fingers to the exposed side of his friend's neck. He had to concentrate over the noisy thudding of his own heart in order to hear B's, but it was there. It was thready and weak, but it was there, and that was all that ultimately mattered._

" _B, can you hear me?"_

_B didn't budge. Hell, he didn't even twitch._

" _B," Ichigo's voice cracked and his eyes stung. "Time to wake up, dude."_

_Nothing._

_He was really starting to panic now. He didn't want to move the man, so he very lightly touched B's cool face. He ran his hand over the man's sweaty brow, wiped away some of the blood leaking from the side of the guy's head. He was so glad no one had accompanied him on this trip; he'd be completely mortified getting caught weepy-eyed over a man he pretended to hate._

" _C'mon, c'mon! You can't_ do _this to me!"_

_He couldn't believe this was happening. B wasn't supposed to die. B was too strong, too fucking stubborn to just kick the bucket._

" _O, did you find him?" G's voice crackled loudly over the earpiece._

_Ichigo gulped down air and tried to control himself, eyes still locked on the drawn face of his teammate. Finally, when he managed to get it together, he pressed the earpiece button and said, "Yeah, I found him. H-he's down. Shit..." he paused. "I need help. We're in the lower level, third corridor."_

" _On our way," G replied._

_Ichigo gave his attention back to an unconscious B. He'd never seen the man so close to death before and the shocking reality of it scared him shitless. He pressed his lips together, unsuccessfully trying to swallow the lump forming in his throat._

" _B, help's comin'. Just hold on a little," his voice quaked. B's body seized up, a loud, shuddering gasp pulling in through discolored lips. That made the tears fall. "Fuck," Ichigo hissed. "Don't you fuckin' die on me, B! I need you_ here _!"_

_B's body went slack and Ichigo feared the worst. Too afraid to search for a pulse, he lowered his lips to parted, blue ones and quickly stole a kiss. The second he pulled back, the rest of the team spilled onto the scene. He discreetly wiped his eyes and took a few, deep, calming breaths as he tucked away his emotions._

Ichigo grimaced. That time in Japan had been the worst moments of his life. Nothing could compare to how he'd felt when he'd thought B had gone and died. He glared at his clenched fists. So, B knew. He'd heard the things Ichigo'd said, even felt the kiss. Now, the blue-haired man wanted some answers. And he was well within his rights, too. If the roles had been reversed, Ichigo would damned sure want an explanation as well.

But how to tell the man? No, wait. _Should_ he even tell B how he felt about him? He could always make up a lie and claim he was just distraught over the man's dire situation. But B's instincts were better than some women's intuition. It was downright creepy at times. So, yeah, that wouldn't really work.

Fuck.

"You OK, O, doll-face?" Tu asked from beside him.

His head whipped around, eyes wide. When the hell had she...?

"Uh...yeah. I'm alright."

"Sweety, you're as alright as I am a guy," she drawled, sarcasm ladled over her words. He supposed perception ran in the team. "Did you and B get into another fight?"

 _Oh, if only you knew, Tu_.

He shook his head and focused on a couple of writhing bodies on the TV. Were they supposed to be dancing? Elegant fingers snapped in front of his face.

"Seriously, O," Tu started, pretty face pinched with concern. "This isn't like you. What's the matter?"

"Tu, I can't – I don't really wanna talk about it."

"Well, I hope this doesn't affect you in Langley. That might not go over well with P, ya know?"

Ichigo chuckled as he tried to lighten the mood by cuffing Tu gently on the chin. "It's just a small thing. Don't worry 'bout me."

A bright grin was his response before his green-haired teammate moved off towards the bathroom. Ichigo felt like he'd just dodged a hefty bullet. Of course there was something bothering him, but he'd be damned before he told what it was to Tu. The woman meant well, but God, her bedside manner sucked.

"You know, you may be able to fool Tu, but I'm not so easily duped," a condescending tenor spoke firmly from behind him.

Ichigo sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. This wasn't happening. He slowly turned to find P perched on a couch, eyes on the TV and thin arms folded across his chest. Mustard-hued eyes leisurely found Ichigo's gaze.

"Who do you think you're kidding, O?" P continued, pink eyebrow arched with genuine curiosity.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Ichigo defended with his always favorite comeback when he really didn't have one.

The pink-haired man snorted and laughed. "Ah, yes. The signature line determining an O-bred lie." P rolled his eyes. "You must acquire new material."

"Whatever," Ichigo grumbled as he made his way to the fridge in search of something cold to drink. In reality, he wanted something a lot stiffer than the lemonade he found, but unfortunately, they didn't have any alcohol on the bus. "Didja ever stop to think it might not be any of your business?" he finished after taking a long sip from the twenty-ounce bottle in his hand.

"Of course not. Especially not after the episode you allegedly two, grown men subjected us to this morning. You do realize that you and B have been behaving like apes, yes?"

"Don't we always?"

"Yeeess, but it's never been quite to this degree. Aaaannnd...the others may have been blind to your distraught tears in Japan, but _I_ was not. In fact, I found it a bit strange."

Ichigo gave P his full attention and openly gaped. Was P saying what he thought the man was saying? If he was, then that meant that not only did B himself know, but one of their teammates knew how Ichigo felt as well. It was a disturbing thought. Hadn't he been meticulous with keeping his affection towards his blue-haired teammate under wraps? In light of this new situation, he supposed he hadn't.

"What the fuck," he growled to himself as he went back to pinching the bridge of his nose.

"It's not so bad. I think I'm the only one that knows so far. Tu is still clueless, I don't think Grenade cares enough, and G-"

"B knows," Ichigo interrupted with a croak. He cleared his throat, avoiding the stunned golden eyes staring at him. "At least he has an idea. He, uh...he heard some things I said that day in Japan."

"Aww! O, were you being sentimental?"

"I hate you."

"Now, now, don't be that way. I'm not poking fun. Not really, anyway. But how do you know he knows?"

Ichigo sighed and meandered over to the couch next to P before taking a seat on it. "'Cuz he told me."

P whistled, eyes wide. "No wonder you look like you saw a ghost. So, what's the next step?"

"What do you mean?"

"What are you going to do now?" the pink-haired man slowly clarified with a grin.

Ichigo shrugged. "I don't know. I kinda wanted ta keep the shit a secret. Now it seems like too many people know about it."

"Well, it's just me and B."

"Yeah, two people too many, P. I mean, what am I supposed to say to the guy? 'Hey, B, I think I might be in love with you, even though we fight like worst enemies.' Yeah, no, I don't think so. Plus, we're kinda in the middle of running for our lives right now. I can't imagine it's a good time to make a romantic confession, especially not to a fellow teammate."

P nodded thoughtfully, thin fingers rubbing his pointed chin. "You have a point there. However, you're also tucking tail and hiding like a bad puppy. Like you said: we're currently running for our lives, so who's to say _when_ would be a good time? You can't very well depend on that. But let me ask you this: had you planned on _ever_ letting our blue-haired Viking in on your little crush?"

Even though Ichigo scowled at P, he had to admit the man was right. And that led him to think if he'd ever really planned to tell B how he felt about him. Even if they weren't ducking and dodging their old employers, would he have found the courage to look the man up and go to him with his long-held secret? He didn't think so, and that made shame race through his system like a rocket. He wasn't a coward. What the hell was he so afraid of anyway? He shifted his gaze and glared at his balled up hands. So, he was in love with B. Didn't mean it was the end of the world. And if the way B had been silently watching him like he wanted to make a porno with him, Ichigo had to believe he wasn't the only one that at least felt the pull of attraction.

"I don't know. I hadn't planned on it, but now that I think about it, it doesn't make sense to keep it to myself. Especially now that B has an idea of how I feel. It's just frustrating. I don't like being forced into makin' decisions. You _know_ that, P," he grunted as he closed his eyes and massaged his temples.

"I do. So, maybe you should just get yourself together and do things on your own time. Don't let the brute push you."

"Ha! That's easier said than done. We're both stubborn pricks and B's got his teeth showing on this one."

P nodded again. "You've made another valid point. In that case, O, I have no idea what to tell you. I would, however, appreciate it if you two toned it down. Less hair-pulling and scratching, more thinking and getting through this inconvenient trial we're going into."

Ichigo's back stiffened as he bristled, totally offended. "You know, you've got some fuckin' nerve telling me and B to stop fighting and arguing, when that seems to be all you and Tu do around each other. What's with _that?_ You two gonna fuck or what?"

His pink-haired teammate went pale and thin lips pressed into a firm line. "Who says I li-"

"Cut the crap, P! I ain't stupid, either, so who do you think _you're_ kidding?"

Silence prevailed. Then it was dispersed by a loud sigh. "Do you think you can be any louder with the nosy woman right there in the bathroom, O?" P issued with a dark glare.

Ichigo had the decency to be embarrassed, but he wasn't done harassing the truth out of his teammate. "OK," he started, voice lowered considerably. "But if _I_ have to make a confession, I think it's only right that _you_ do the same. So, how 'bout it? I tell, you tell?"

P's eyes narrowed into slits as he considered it. "Fine."

With an ingratiating smile, Ichigo climbed to his feet, prepared to make his way up to his bunk and catch a nap before they arrived in Baltimore.

"And if I find out you didn't hold up your end of the bargain, O, I will personally kick your ass and feed it to Kenpachi."

The orange-haired man stopped in his tracks and blinked as the blood drained from his face. "Y-you wouldn't do that."

"Try me."

Ichigo had no intentions of doing so. Kenpachi was scary as fuck-all.

XOXOXO

The door to Ishida's cave hovered before them like a yawning tunnel. Grimmjow sighed, depressed. He wanted to focus on getting that confession out of O, but here he stood...waiting for the door to his doom to slide open. He felt like he was walking to his own execution. He shouldn't _have_ to be required to tag along, just because P thought it would get Ishida to cooperate more freely with Grimmjow being there. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. ...And now he was internally whining like a child. He rubbed a hand over his eyes and sighed again, this time drawing a smug smirk from P.

Grimmjow cleared his throat and met mustard-hued eyes with a stern glare. "If that creep puts his hands on me, I'ma shoot 'im. An' ain't no words from you, P, gonna save his ass. Just thought I'd share that witcha."

O cackled from the pink-haired man's side, Tu giggled, Grenade shook his head and smiled, and G...well, G seemed like he was in his own little world, hands in his pockets and eyes distant. What the hell was he thinking about? P, on the other hand, merely rolled his eyes and knocked on the metal door that looked like it belonged on a spaceship, rather than in a warehouse-styled building.

"And if you do that, I'll shoot _you_. Tit for tat, no?" the pompous, pink-haired asshole drawled, unfazed.

Grimmjow shuffled his feet as the door made a soft beeping sound and slowly slid aside. It was like a slow descent into an electric chair. Sure, just _calmly_ face the fact that you're about to die.

 _Fuck this_.

He whirled on his heel, ready to flee back to the bus, but that voice – that haughty fucking tenor that he just couldn't stand – floated over his shoulder, halting his steps.

"Ah, the gang's all here again. Nice to see you, Agent B. Did you forget something?"

Grimmjow's fingers twitched as he turned back, burying the urge to reach for the Glock at his waist. It was like trying to get _him_ not to curse: fucking impossible. Everything on his body felt like it had a sudden case of the tics. His eyebrows jumped, his fingers trembled, his limbs jerked. He was a veritable ticking bomb. And then a hand on his arm caught his attention. He glared over at the soul brave enough to approach him in his current mood, and was surprised when everything settled and his body involuntarily relaxed. O stared up at him with those insanely brown eyes and shook his head slightly.

"It's only for an hour, the most," he said quietly, unaware of the other eyes penetrating their interaction.

He nodded. What the hell? Why was he so fucking meek all of a sudden? O's hand disappeared and it was like a switch had been thrown. All his anger came roaring back as he tried to incinerate Ishida with his eyes. But Ishida was too busy trying to do the same to O, so he didn't notice the death rays Grimmjow sent him. Grimmjow frowned, confused. Then it made a little more sense. Ishida wanted him. O had touched him. Taboo, taboo, taboo. With a wicked grin, Grimmjow followed the rest of the team into the dark-haired geek's lair.

O had changed positions and was now posted beside Grenade, eyes intent on the glowing screens surrounding the room. Computers hummed, printers whirred, and other little techy things clicked and beeped. It was nerd paradise. However, Grimmjow'd found an angle that would surely return the annoyance the glasses-sporting Ishida dished out, tenfold. He watched the room carefully as Ishida plopped into a black, rolling desk chair behind one of the many monitors decorating the place, and P took up position beside him. G found himself a seat near the door, while Tu traveled the room, eyes big and curious.

Suddenly, Grenade cleared his throat. "So, uh...what're we here for again?" he asked, Southern drawl carrying over the background noise with ease.

Ishida opened his mouth, Grimmjow certain the man was ready to spew sarcasm like vomit, but P cut him off.

"We need equipment. The end."

The brunet ignored the flippant remark and sank to the floor. "Alrighty."

O glanced at Grenade, but shook his head and made his way over to the two computer geniuses, where P included him in their conversation. Grimmjow's eyes followed everything. He had a plan and in order for it to work, he'd need to get his ass over there by O. So, that was precisely what he did. He sauntered over to his orange-haired teammate and casually placed a hand on the man's shoulder. The outcome was _delicious_. You would've thought someone had just dropped a live grenade into the room, such was the stunned silence. He forced back the grin that wanted to devour his face and glanced innocently around the room. P stopped talking and stared, Tu stopped moving and stared, G tilted his head, opened frost-blue eyes and stared, Grenade lazily arched a brow and stared, and O jerked like Grimmjow'd hit him, met his gaze with astonished whiskey-brown eyes, then stared. Ishida was the only one whose reaction was a bit different. Instead of staring, he righteously glared.

This was just perfect. Grimmjow fought that grin tooth and nail as he slowly brought up his other hand and placed it on O's other shoulder. Once that was done, his hands squeezed and he gently started massaging. The team passed looks back and forth at each other, but O was apparently still too stunned to do much more than gawk. And then, for some reason, the room just fell away, leaving him and O alone. Their eyes locked and Grimmjow shifted his body until it filled the small gap between them. The heat emanating from the shorter man distracted him and made him lean forward even more, his nose burying itself into that abominably bright-orange hair. He inhaled deeply, not even noticing the quick intake of air O took. Grimmjow was too caught up in what he was doing. What was he doing, actually? His hands left O's shoulders and made their way down to the other man's hips, where they tightened and released rhythmically. Christ, he was enjoying the way O fit with him, muscular yet wiry body taut and tempting.

A small, choking sound brought him out of the special little place he'd created for the two of them, so he lifted his face away from O's hair and looked around. _Everyone_ stared at him like he'd just swallowed the key to their freedom. Not to mention, O's chest heaved as he took in shallow breath after shallow breath, eyes squeezed shut and bottom lip trapped between his teeth. Now _that_ was a look Grimmjow could get used to.

Fortunately, his spontaneous actions earned him the development he'd been hoping for. Ishida was on his feet, glasses sliding before slender fingers pushed them back up his nose, and dark-blue eyes spit fire at O.

"I see!" he snapped. "This is most undesirable, Agent O."

O's eyelids finally peeled apart, the brown orbs settling on the raging dark-haired man. "What're you talkin' about, Ishida?"

" _I_ claimed Agent B as my own _years_ before this nonsense going on now, and yet _you_ disrespect that. I can't allow it. I challenge you."

O blinked. Grimmjow smirked. Oh, this was too good.

"Excuse me?" the orange-haired man deadpanned.

"I _said:_ I challenge you, Agent O. We'll settle this here and now. Agent B is mine."

O blinked again, then turned and threw a murderous glare at Grimmjow. It bounced right off him. He grinned and blew his teammate a kiss, not really expecting the angry blush that followed. That took his thoughts down the road of getting that confession out of O, even if it killed him. Once that was out of the way, he planned to screw the guy stupid.

"Ishida, B's just messin' with you."

"No, I'm not," he instantly piped up, brows drawing into a pretend frown. He pulled O tighter to him and pressed his lips into the man's hair in a brief kiss. "O's lyin'. Me an' him are an item. Ain't that right, sweetheart?"

Ishida hedged beautifully, the fury in his eyes ratcheting up a few notches, but before he could really get going, O growled and elbowed Grimmjow in the stomach. It wasn't hard enough to really hurt, but it did knock the wind out of him. He dropped his hands from O's waist and bent slightly, trying to catch his breath.

"Why are you doing this?" O hissed in his face. "This isn't helping us get outta here any faster, ya know!"

"I don't care!" Grimmjow hissed back. "I just want that freak ta stop likin' me! _You_ don' know how it feels ta have yer ass and sometimes yer _dick_ grabbed by somebody ya don' even _want_ , never mind _like_. And lemme tell ya, it ain't fun!"

The anger flitted out of O's eyes almost instantaneously as he tucked his lips between his teeth, biting back a grin.

"If you laugh at me, I'll kick yer fuckin' ass, O," Grimmjow continued, voice still a low whisper. "C'mon! Jus' help me out here! Look, if ya do, I'll do Beavis and Butt-head imitations with ya, an' we can make P shit his pants and freak out."

And there it was. O's brown eyes glittered with thoughts of future malicious deeds as he nodded. "What do I gotta do?"

Grimmjow shrugged. "Act like we're a couple, I guess." O briefly frowned at the floor as though he were contemplating, and the look made Grimmjow think of their earlier, aborted conversation. "An' don' think I forgot about what we were talkin' 'bout before, either," he added.

"Shut up, asshole. I know you didn't forget."

O glared at Grimmjow, but carefully put an arm around his waist, face on fire. Then he turned to Ishida. "I guess the jig's up," he sighed.

Ishida's lips drew into such a tight ball, it was amazing they didn't disappear altogether. "Then my declaration stands, Agent O. I challenge you."

"To _what?"_ O asked, bewildered. "It can't be a fight. Ya do realize I'd beat you pretty easily, right?"

"Not a _fight_ , you disgusting animal! A man's game."

O was frowning by now and Grimmjow was hardly keeping his laughter in check. Meanwhile, the rest of the team had gathered around them and watched with avid interest.

"A man's game. So, what's that? I gotta ask 'cuz I don't think me and you have the same ideas as to what's manly or not," O retorted, full of sarcasm.

Ishida drew up like a harassed chicken. "Nor would I expect us to," he sniffed. "I challenge you to a game of chess, Agent O. Winner gets Agent B."

"Uh, just a little friendly reminder: B's already mine."

Grimmjow froze, heart seizing, then restarting with a thunderous pounding. _Whoa_. He'd enjoyed hearing those words coming from his orange-haired teammate a _bit_ too much. The words made him think of all the ways he wanted to bend O over a flat surface and-

"Not to mention-" P's voice interrupted Grimmjow's dirty mind, but Grenade's voice cut off the pink-haired man's statement.

"Now that ain't right. If Ishida wants ta challenge O ta a manly game a'chess, then so be it."

The amusement in the brunet's voice further brought Grimmjow back to the here and now, where he focused on the radiating glee on O's face, and the poorly disguised concern all over P's. Then, the word chess rang through his mind. Had...Ishida just...sentenced his own death in the form of a board game? Did he not remember that O was a tactics genius? The orange-haired man lived to solve, plan and figure shit out. But that was ultimately a good thing, right? Maybe once Ishida had his ass handed to him publicly, he'd leave Grimmjow the fuck alone.

P huffed and folded his arms across his chest before sending an irate glare Grimmjow's way. "I hope this doesn't interfere with what we need to do."

"It shouldn't," he answered cheerily. "Plus, I never heard ya bitch this much when Ishida had his hands all over my body parts."

That shut down the pink-haired prick. Ishida marched over to a corner of the room, naturally stepping over thick cords and wires as if they weren't even there. The geek plopped down at a small table made for two, the surface covered with the signature checkered boxes. Under the table were two pencil drawers containing the chess pieces, one for each player. O sat across from Ishida, grin gone and game face on. It was sexy as hell. Grimmjow watched the men situate the pieces on the board, then stare across it at each other.

"Ready, you boar?" Ishida droned.

O gave a tiny lift of the corner of his mouth. "Let's do this."

Grimmjow beamed and pulled up a rolling chair, thoroughly prepared to enjoy the show. G came over and sat on the floor to his right, ice-blue eyes slitted shut and wide mouth pulled into his customary, toothless grin.

"Lucy...ya got some 'splainin' ta do," he said quietly.

"I'll say," Tu added from his left.

"Shh," he hushed, irritated. "Game's on."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -sigh- So after some studying and a few Youtube videos on the lovely game of chess, I've come to the conclusion that I don't understand that shit. Therefore, I'm going to gloss over this a bit. I apologize to those that were expecting an in-depth, possibly step-by-step game. My brain hurts just thinking about it. -humbly bows and asks for forgiveness-

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Bleach...

Onwards...

" _The moment of betrayal is the worst, the moment_

_when you know beyond any doubt that you've been_

_betrayed: that some other human being has wished you that_

_much evil."_

_-Margaret Atwood-_

XOXOXO

"Checkmate."

Ishida stared down at the chess board with a slack face, while Ichigo just grinned. He'd known from Ishida's first movement that the game would be a piece of cake. The dark-haired computer geek had attacked straight out of the gates, navy-blue eyes smug and completely arrogant. It was a good thing Ichigo's poker face was impenetrable. He'd wanted to laugh so fucking bad, his skin had been nearly crawling off his flesh with the effort not to.

"You cheated. There is no possible way I didn't see this coming," Ishida snapped.

"Somebody's a sore loser," Grenade drawled from his spot on the floor.

G cackled and rubbed the tip of his nose. "Ah-hah, mah. O's jus' good like that."

P remained silent, but the look on his face spoke clearly of how he felt on the subject. His mustard-colored eyes were hard and glittering with anger, yet somehow twinkling with a small amount of amusement as well. It was an interesting combination, that was for sure. Ichigo peered at B from the corner of his eye. He was still inwardly having a heart attack from what had occurred not even an hour before. B's big hands all over him, the heat from the man's muscular body pressed against his side and back, the way B had buried his face in Ichigo's hair – it had left Ichigo's knees weak. He'd wanted to just turn into the man's light embrace and take advantage of everything B had been pretending to offer. That thought alone had killed the mood, however. When Ichigo had realized that B was only getting cozy with him to piss off Ishida, it'd served to douse his wayward libido with ice cold water.

B was still straddling an office chair, long legs stretched out in front of him and thick arms braced along the back of the seat. His blue eyes were dancing with relief and joy. Had Ichigo not been so internally depressed about the man's motives, he would have found the sight incredibly endearing. Not to mention funny as hell. He decided to stick with the humorous aspect as he turned to his blue-haired teammate with a smarmy grin. He knew B would understand the look all too well.

Sure enough, the happy smirk B wore, along with the enraptured glint in his eyes quickly faded, morphing into a childish pout. However, Ichigo's grin turned into a full-on, toothy smile. With that, he turned to P and inclined his head as if inquiring about the next step. The pink-haired man had his arms folded tightly across his chest, his lips pursed into a tiny knot.

"Ah, Ishida. I hate to interrupt, but I really do require your assistance," P tentatively put forth.

Ishida continued staring at the chess board, brows furrowed and eyes belying the confusion he really felt. Then, he looked up at Ichigo and glared.

"I won't accept this. I demand a rematch," he clipped.

Before Ichigo could even respond, a loud, deep voice broke the relative silence. "Oh, _come on_! What the fuck ya mean? Ya lost!"

B was furious. He was on his feet, shooting eye bullets down at the still seated Ishida. Ishida turned to him rather calmly and used a long index finger to push his glasses up his straight nose. Somehow, in a way that defied all logic, the dark-haired man's eyes turned soft and almost affectionate. Ichigo wanted to fall out of his seat and roll around on the floor, laughing his stomach into spasms. It was too priceless.

"Agent B, what kind of man would I be if I didn't fight for my honor as well as yours?"

B's mouth opened and closed a few times before he stalked away from the scene, hand plowing through his wild blue hair. "I can't believe this shit's happ'nin'," Ichigo heard him mutter from across the room.

Ichigo wanted to feel bad for the man, but with the roundabout way B had enlisted his help in fending off the dark-haired computer geek, Ichigo couldn't feel anything more than annoyance. He'd keep the disappointment part to himself.

P adjusted his own glasses and peered down at Ishida. "I understand your plight, Ishida. I do. However, time is against us at the moment. Perhaps you can save the rematch for another day?"

Ishida gave a long-suffering sigh as he stood and straightened his clothing. "I suppose you're right."

Ichigo didn't miss the gleeful way B's head whipped in their direction. Simple idiot. Ichigo climbed to his feet as well, but made his way to the door. G's mischievous voice stopped him in his tracks as soon as he reached for the button that would grant him his freedom.

"Hey, O, where ya goin'?"

"Back to the bus. 'M tired."

G's pale-blue eyes slitted open as he tilted his head to the side and carefully considered him. Luckily, he didn't say anything. Ichigo glanced around the room at his other teammates before mashing the button for the door and sweeping over the threshold. He planned to ignore the curiosity written all over Tu's heart-shaped face, the narrow-eyed skepticism on P's, and the amusement on Grenade's and G's. As he made tracks for the bus, Ichigo shook his head.

He definitely planned to ignore the thoughtful frown on B's face. It wasn't worth the headache trying to decipher.

XOXOXO

Byakuya blinked into the semi-darkness of his bedroom, frowning and wondering what had awakened him so abruptly. Then, he registered the obnoxious buzzing of his alarm clock. He reached an arm over the side of the bed and slapped the black box silent, still groggy. He'd spent the whole of last night going over the file Tsukishima had given him. Although the reports and documents seemed airtight, there were still a couple of things that were bothering him. For one thing, there were no real specifics about Agent Blondie's death. The file only stated he'd been found in his home in Pittsburg, Pennsylvania, face-down in the pool in his backyard. But where was the proof? There was only that one written report, no pictures, nothing. It was confusing.

Then there was the case of the team he was after in the first place. After rumors had flown around about their supposed deaths, they had somehow resurfaced, clearly not so dead after all. Byakuya sat up, swung his legs over the side of his king-sized bed and ran a hand through his long, tangled, black hair. After sighing, he stood and straightened the covers on the bed – a habit he'd acquired as a kid. He moved to the adjoining bathroom and started the shower first, then brushed his teeth. He was forcing himself awake for the meeting at headquarters in a few hours. He couldn't say he was looking forward to working with a team that he knew nothing of, but he didn't have a choice, either.

Well...he would do his job as long as it went along with his code.

The shower was refreshing and did its job of completely dispersing the sleep-webs. Byakuya quickly dressed in a black suit with a matching black tie and headed down to the kitchen, where he prepared a light breakfast of toasted English muffins and cinnamon flavored oatmeal. After two cups of coffee, he felt like he was ready to face anything Tsukishima planned to throw in his direction. Just as he went to leave through the back door, the house phone began ringing insistently. He frowned as he rounded the island in the middle of the room and snatched the cordless phone from its cradle.

"Kuchiki," he greeted.

"Hey, big brother! How's the government life treating you?"

Byakuya's tense shoulders relaxed as he leaned a hip against the frame of the door leading into the hall. A ghost of a grin appeared on his face. "Rukia, isn't it too early for you?"

He could hear the smile in his younger sister's voice when she said, "Of course, but I figured this is the only way I'd hear from you."

"Is something wrong?"

"Jeez! Why does something have to be wrong for me to call my only big brother?"

Byakuya smiled softly. "Just asking. As much as I'd like to catch up with you right now, I have to be at the office soon."

Rukia gave a dramatic sigh. "Yeah, yeah. I was just calling to remind you that me and Kaien are coming to visit this weekend."

Byakuya's heart lurched. Now wasn't really a good time to have his only family around. He'd made sure to keep her out of harm's way thus far, and he sure as hell didn't mean to break that tradition. This new assignment he'd accepted would be a lot of trouble. He was facing numerous ex-agents that were professionals in the art of cornering and killing people; there was no way he would get Rukia involved.

"Ah, Rukia, now isn't a good time."

"Byakuya!" she snapped, voice obviously exasperated. "You _always_ say that! When _is_ a good time?"

"I won't know until this assignment is complete. Please, don't-"

"I know, I know. It's your job." Rukia sighed again. "Maybe if you called every now and then, I wouldn't worry about you so much."

And now he felt guilty. "I'll do better," he amended as he glanced at the watch on his left wrist. "I have to go."

"Alright. I'll talk to you later," she said, the depression already settling into her voice. "Love you."

"Mm, same here. We'll talk later."

He ended the connection and set the phone back in its cradle. As if his morning wasn't already ominous, now he had to tack on a case of guilt along with it. His little sister, Rukia, had been telling him she wanted to visit for more than a month now, but what could he do? His job wasn't always the safest, and he didn't want her to suffer because of it. He knew there were people that would use her against him – frankly, he was surprised no one had dug that deep yet. Not that he was complaining. He just didn't want to risk it, and like he'd told himself earlier – this new assignment was the most dangerous one he'd undertaken in his entire career. What sense did it make involving her, when he could just keep her at a distance, safe and out of harm's way?

Byakuya went back to the opposite side of the room and entered the garage, where he locked up behind himself, then slid into his black, Chevy Tahoe. As he started the engine, his thoughts went back to the upcoming meeting with the team Tsukishima wanted him to work with. A lot wasn't adding up, but until he had proof of any shady business, he would do his job like a good agent was supposed to.

XOXOXO

Grimmjow stared at the TV on the lower level of the bus, unseeing and distracted. He still had O's scent in his head, could still feel the orange-haired man's toned abdomen and slim hips beneath his fingers. What was he going to do about this? The team had successfully acquired the equipment they'd needed from Señor Feel You Up and were now on the way to Langley. P and O had spent the last couple hours cooking up a plan to get inside headquarters in order to have a heart to heart with Tsukishima, but in the end, O had nixed it all in favor of just scouting the place. He figured checking out the situation was better than going in, all guns and blazing saddles. Grimmjow didn't think so, but hell, he'd always had a love/hate relationship with being subtle.

Suddenly, Grenade's hysterical laughter erupted from the couch across from Grimmjow. He looked at the brunet, one eyebrow raised in question. He knew Grenade's theme song was Rick James' "Mary Jane," but that still didn't explain the alarming case of the giggles the man had out of nowhere. Grenade had commandeered P's laptop and had it resting over his knees as he cracked up at the screen. Curiosity _always_ killed the cat. Grimmjow found himself standing and ambling over to his teammate. He stopped next to Grenade and peered over the man's shoulder. What he saw twisted his face into a mask of confusion.

"Grenade, what the fuck ya watchin'?" he asked.

Grenade had tears in his smoky gray eyes as he looked up at Grimmjow, lazy grin showing teeth and everything. Grimmjow had never seen the man laugh that hard. Well, no. There _had_ been that one time in Japan.

"B, this shit's so stupid, it's painful," the man drawled through his laughter.

Grimmjow took a closer look at the screen and shook his head. It was a Youtube video, but he didn't quite understand what was going on. There was a terribly drawn sun, wearing shades and making a beat with a visible mouth. Grimmjow frowned as his eyes landed on a man Liu Kang bicycle-kicking his way across the screen in super slow motion.

"Grenade, what the fuck?" he repeated, not just slightly confused anymore, but totally and utterly flabbergasted.

Grenade howled and grabbed his stomach, causing the laptop to teeter dangerously. Grimmjow reached forward and steadied it before it could hit the floor. None of them wanted that kind of drama with P. Although Grimmjow owed the pink-haired asshole for making him endure a whole two hours of Ishida Uryuu, he didn't plan to take his revenge out on a laptop they all needed. However, at the moment, Grimmjow's attention was all for the video Grenade had playing. There was a man standing on top of a car... _rapping_? What was worse, the video had the nerve to have subtitles for what the guy was saying, but...none of it made sense! Not to mention the spelling was simply atrocious. It had to be a joke.

" _Imdabes, imdabes, imdabeeeeees."_

Grimmjow looked at his brunet teammate and shook his head. "Grenade, you fuckin' idiot. This shit's gonna rot yer brain."

Grenade was still in tears, laughing, face red and nose running. "Ahhh! Oh, God!" was all he managed.

Grimmjow lifted the laptop and set it down on the couch beside Grenade. There was something wrong with that man. As Grimmjow made his way back to his seat, P stepped past him, headed for the small kitchenette. They bumped shoulders, which made him look back at the pink-haired man incredulously. Was P purposely trying to start a fight with him or something?

 _Speaking of P_...

Grimmjow smirked at the "I dare you" look on the other man's face. Then, he made a detour to the stairs that led to the upper level of the bus. He'd given O his space after the incident at Ishida's place because the look the orange-haired man had given him after the chess match had been won, had clearly conveyed that O felt like Grimmjow now owed him. It was true too. O had saved his hide, so it was only right he be in the man's debt. Now, it was time for O to collect in a manner of speaking. Never mind the fact that it would be for Grimmjow's benefit as well.

He climbed the stairs, made a left and slowly crept to the tactics specialist's bunk, which was located behind and above his own. The white curtain was drawn, and there was no sound coming from the small space, so Grimmjow assumed O was asleep. Didn't mean he wouldn't be nosy. He lifted a corner flap of the curtain and froze. He'd been right; O was in fact asleep.

Naked.

But still asleep.

Grimmjow couldn't let go of the curtain even if his life depended on it. All he could do was stare, eyes greedily taking in every bit of revealed skin. O was on his side, his muscular back facing Grimmjow and equally toned legs spread apart, right knee pulled up towards his stomach. His butt was perfectly rounded, skin flawless. It was like getting a peek at your presents on Christmas Eve. Grimmjow let his eyes run the length of O's spectacular body one more time before he carefully lowered the flap.

And then he came face to face with a smirking G.

"Mah, mah," the silver-haired man cooed. "Thought ya were too old ta be playin' peek-a-boo, B."

His stomach seemed to plummet to his knees as he stared slack-jawed at his teammate. What was he supposed to say? He'd been caught red-handed peeping into O's private little space, and there was no way to redeem himself. G would never let him live it down. But surprisingly, G did something Grimmjow wasn't expecting. He stepped forward, lifted the same flap Grimmjow had a second ago and promptly froze as well, ice-blue eyes slitting apart and silver brows hiding beneath the fringe of hair sweeping across his brow.

"Oh," he mumbled. "I see."

Heat engulfed Grimmjow from the inside out right before he smacked the curtain away from G's hand. He didn't want anyone else but himself looking at O like that.

"What the hell ya doin'?" he barked, voice rougher than he meant it to be.

G grinned his signature, toothless smirk as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "Oh-oh. Looks like somebody's got a crush."

_Oh, yeah?_

Grimmjow stepped into the slender man's personal space and gave him a feral grin that showed all of his teeth. "Sure ya wanna be pointin' fingers, G, buddy? I mean, the way ya let that red ape kiss ya before kinda makes me think I ain't the only one with a secret 'er two."

G's face paled and went blank as he sent Grimmjow an intimidating glare. Well, almost. It just made Grimmjow's grin more smug.

"You'll be keepin' that ta yerself, B. Unnerstood?"

"You threatenin' me, G?"

"If tha's what it takes."

"SHUT THE FUCK UP! I'M TRYNA SLEEP!"

Grimmjow and G froze, eyes wide. O's disgruntled voice put a swift end to what may have been a nice little scuffle. They gave each other guilty looks a while longer, until G sauntered past, headed for the stairs. He stopped before descending and turned his head in Grimmjow's direction, smile back in full force.

"Let's keep this 'tween us, B, hm?"

Grimmjow appreciated the nicer tone and nodded. "Yeah, let's do that."

With that, G disappeared down the stairs, and Grimmjow faced O's bunk again. He lifted a hand and knocked on the wooden frame.

"Tch! What?!" O barked. "Didn't I jus' say I'm tryna fuckin' sleep?"

Woo. O was in a _nasty_ mood. Grimmjow arched a brow and cleared his throat. He'd almost lifted the flap again.

"I thought ya wanted to make good on that deal we made earlier."

O was silent for a few beats before his voice came back considerably softer. "B?"

Grimmjow shifted in place and grimaced. _Dammit, O. Not right now with that bedroom voice_. "Uh-huh. The one an' only," he mumbled, trying to lighten the tension.

"Hang on a minute."

There was some rustling and shuffling before O emerged from the bunk in a pair of green and blue plaid boxers. Grimmjow licked his lips and looked away. The orange-haired man was shirtless, torso rippling with tightly-packed and sinewy muscle. How was that fair? The man obviously had no clue of the effect he had on Grimmjow, or else he wouldn't have shown up outside that bunk without any real clothing on. When O hopped down from his bed and stood in front of Grimmjow, Grimmjow had to take a deep breath to calm his nerves – which, in hindsight, may have been a bad idea. O's warm scent came spiraling into his nose, teasing and sexy as hell.

"What's up?" the shorter man asked, voice husky from sleep.

"Hmm..." Grimmjow started, not even sure why he was there in the first place. What was he supposed to ask again? "Um...what?"

An orange brow rose skeptically. "You woke me up to be an idiot?"

Well, that shook him out of his reverie.

"Yeah, actually I did, smartass."

O grinned, brown eyes still hooded from his nap. Grimmjow swallowed thickly as he watched O's mouth move. "Well, lay it on me, B. I'm tired, an' I wanna go back to sleep before we get to Langley."

_Poor choice of words, O!_

Grimmjow just chuckled and shook his head at his rotten luck, not to mention his stubborn libido. It wouldn't give him a break and turned everything O said into something perverted and lecherous.

"Ya still wanna piss P Diddy off?" he asked.

O's grin widened as he rubbed the back of his neck. "He busy?"

"Yup."

"Lemme get a shirt."

"Thank God," he grumbled to himself as he lowered his head and started for the stairs.

Unfortunately, with his rotten luck, O heard him. "You got a problem with me not wearin' a shirt, B?" the orange-haired man snapped, a frown pulling his brows together.

Tell the truth, or _don't_ tell the truth – that was the question.

"Yup," Grimmjow lied easily. "Yer too scrawny ta be walkin' around like that."

O rolled his eyes as he climbed the ladder off to the side of his bunk. "Yeah, right. Even that idiot coyote from Looney Tunes can see through _that_ fib. S'OK. I can understand if you're jealous, you know?"

"Jus' bring yer ass downstairs, O."

Grimmjow almost ran to the lower level of the bus, heart racing and mind in a panic. Was he that easy to see through? That couldn't be right. O just happened to get lucky. Once he reached the bottom of the stairs, his eyes immediately honed in on the pink-haired man standing in the kitchenette at the counter. P was fiddling with a small, black gadget that resembled an ear piece, expression dead serious and full of concentration. Grimmjow smirked.

 _Perfect_.

He ambled over to the fridge and pretended to root through it while he waited for O to show himself. He didn't miss the cursory glare P sent him for making a racket with a couple of cans and glass bottles. Hell, no. It just made his smirk turn predatory and ruthless. He cleared his throat and hummed a few times, practicing the right pitch. It'd been a while since he'd done what he had in mind.

O strolled into the small space a moment later, brown eyes wicked and bright orange hair sticking up on his head. He still had on those plaid boxers, but with them he had on a plain, form-fitting white tee. That hadn't done a damned thing, in Grimmjow's opinion. O's firm-looking chest and washboard abdomen was still clearly visible through the thin material. Grimmjow ignored it for the time being; they had a computer geek to rile up.

O stood next to him by the fridge, then leaned past and grabbed one of Grenade's Dr. Pepper sodas from the bottom shelf. He cracked open the top and chugged it. Grimmjow winced, throat stinging just from watching. It was all part of the plan, though. When O was done, he crushed the can in his fist and licked his lips, eyes settling on Grimmjow's face. The smirk was back and a lot bigger. Grimmjow took a peek at P, who was now watching the two of them with a narrow-eyed, golden gaze. O straightened his back, squared his shoulders and opened his mouth wide. P's face twisted with horror.

"Don't you dare!" he shouted, instantly gaining the attention of Grenade, Tu and G, who had been seated near the TV, watching a cheesy drama.

A loud, long, completely obnoxious belch killed the peaceful environment. G snickered, already aware of what was going on, while Grimmjow roared with laughter at the look on P's face. O rubbed his belly, still grinning widely.

"Hm-hm-hee. 'Ay, Butt-Head, where's the remote?" O asked, perfectly capturing the blond cartoon idiot's voice.

Grimmjow cleared his throat again, but before he could speak, P interrupted, face and voice desperate.

"No! Please! Don't do this!" he begged.

 _Yeah, right_.

"Uh-huh-huh," he chuckled, lowering the timbre of his voice. "You had it last, Beavis."

"STOP IT!" P shrieked. "THAT'S _DISGUSTING_!"

"Hm-hm-hee, ohhhh, yeah," O chortled.

"Butt-munch," Grimmjow added.

By now, Tu and G were cracking up, while Grenade had that special glint in his eye that meant he was up to no good. Grimmjow saw it coming a mile away.

"What in the hell?" Grenade said over P's dismayed screams, his Southern drawl accurately nailing Mr. Anderson's character.

Tu toppled off the couch, clutching her stomach as she crowed with pained laughter. G tried to catch her, but was incapacitated by his own mirth.

"That's fucking _gross_!" P hollered, obviously outraged. His face was flushed, as were his ears and neck, and his eyes were spitting fury as his glasses slid down his nose. "You _know_ that shit freaks me out! _It's fucking disgusting_!" he repeated, beside himself.

"Uh-huh-huh," Grimmjow started. "He said fuck."

Tu screeched with new laughter, and even Grenade chuckled. O started picking his nose as he grinned at P. That was the last straw. P stormed out of the kitchenette and up the stairs to the upper level of the bus. There was a pause where the rest of the team could hear P throwing things around and cursing like a truck driver with a bad case of road rage. After that, they all fell into hysterical laughter.

"THAT'S NOT FUCKING FUNNY, YOU _ASSHOLES_!" P shouted from upstairs, voice slightly muffled.

That just made it worse.

Grimmjow, still cackling, unconsciously put an arm around O's shoulders and ruffled the wild, atomic-orange hair. Next thing he knew, O was pressed against him, hand on Grimmjow's chest as he continued to chuckle. It was like an instant inferno had opened up in front of him. He wanted nothing more than to pull O even closer and kiss him until he couldn't breathe. Couldn't _think_. O had to feel something too because he pulled back a little and stared up into Grimmjow's eyes. They shared a long, silent moment, where they did nothing but look at each other. Tension climbed and became almost unbearable. It wasn't the uncomfortable kind of tension, either. It was the "two seconds away from having my way with you" kind of tension.

"Wow," Tu's voice chirped, breaking the intense spell. "You guys should totally kiss."

Grimmjow frowned at the insufferable woman, but O's face was engulfed with red, making the man's adorable freckles stand out. Grimmjow had always thought O's freckles were interesting considering the orange-haired man was fully grown. For some reason, Grimmjow had it in his head that only kids got them.

O's blush was just another reminder to Grimmjow that he had yet to wring that confession out of the man. He was pretty convinced that what he'd felt in Japan had indeed been a kiss. That along with what he'd heard O say... He couldn't ignore it anymore. He'd tried while they had all gone their separate ways a few years ago, but seeing the other man again had brought it all back with a vengeance. Not to mention, O still looked as good as he had back when they were an active team. Maybe even better since he'd gotten older and the age had matured his attractiveness. Grimmjow was determined to hear O admit to what had occurred in Japan.

Not now, though. He wouldn't put the other man on the spot in front of their nosy teammates.

"Be quiet, woman," Grimmjow grumbled as he stepped away from O and made his way into the sitting area.

He found an empty couch and plopped down onto it. He put his feet up and stretched his arms, legs and back, yawning as he did so. He was tired himself and figured a nap was a pretty good idea. He didn't feel like going up to the bunks and risking P's wrath, so he made himself comfortable on the couch and lay his head back. Of course, the peace didn't last.

Tu's voice was a lot closer this time. "O and B, sittin' in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g. First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes O with a baby carriage," she sang.

"Hey!" O snapped from across the room. Grimmjow couldn't hide the grin that spread across his face. "Why do I gotta be the one with the fuckin' baby carriage?"

Grimmjow cracked an eye and peered at his orange-haired teammate. O's face was maroon as he scowled at Tu and clearly fidgeted with embarrassment.

 _How cute_.

"'Cuz it's obvious I'm the man a'this relationship, babe," Grimmjow teased, watching the other man's face to see how he would react.

O looked in his direction, brown eyes wide, but then the look disappeared. "We're not at Ishida's place anymore. You can stop pretendin' now," he grunted.

Grimmjow frowned. _Wasn't expecting that_ , he thought.

"I'm gonna grab another nap," O announced as he made for the stairs. He got halfway up before he stopped and came back down. "Think it might be safer down here, though. P might kill me in my sleep."

Tu was merciless as her eyes followed the orange-haired man to a free couch. "You sure that's why you don't wanna go up there, O, sweetie? It's OK if you wanna spend time with your new beau, ya know."

"Shut up!" O snapped as he stretched out and closed his eyes. "It was just a joke. Jeez."

Grimmjow's frown deepened. Why did O seem so pissed?

XOXOXO

They arrived in Langley not too long after he and B had successfully pissed off their pink-haired teammate. P _loathed_ Beavis and Butt-head; it freaked him out to unnatural degree. Unfortunately for him, O and B did perfect impersonations of the characters, which they used against P whenever the computer geek was being more of an ass than usual.

It was mid-morning – ten forty-five to be exact. Ichigo was dressed in the same clothing Renji had given him, since it would help make him appear as a civilian. He fit the earpiece P handed him into his ear and gave it a sound check. Once he was sure it was up and running fine, he tucked an audio wire into his pocket and left the bus. The plan was for him to take a quick look around; get an idea of the layout, and see what changes had been made to the building since they'd last been on active duty. Should be easy enough. He'd pilfered a black hat from a nearby store, so it would keep some attention off his distinctive hair.

Bullet had been parked a few blocks away in a public garage, just to be on the safe side. Ichigo had a Glock hidden in the black backpack he carried, and the earpiece was disguised under the hat on his head. He walked down the street, wondering if things would go as easily as he hoped. He'd had incredibly bad luck the past couple of days, so there was no way to tell. P had been unbelievably optimistic, but Ichigo would wait on getting his hopes up. He approached the security gate and took a deep breath as he met the tall, burly guard's dark eyes.

"Hey, I'm here ta see my dad," he called out.

The guard frowned as expected as he emerged from the small booth. He really was a huge guy. "And who's your dad?"

Luckily, P had given Ichigo the name of a fairly well-known agent with the same last name Ichigo had on his fake ID. So, by the time the guard followed up with the agent, Ichigo would already be inside the building, which was his main aim.

"Mike Grant," he said confidently.

"Grant, huh? An' why didn'tcha call him first? By the way, ya got some ID?"

"Well, it was sort of an emergency, and since I was in the area, I decided to just drop by. And yeah, hang on a sec," Ichigo said as he withdrew his wallet from the backpack.

He pulled the ID free and handed it over to the guard, who studied it like it was the key to wealth. He glanced back and forth between it and Ichigo a few times before he gave it back and nodded.

"I gotta call it in, but ya know where the visitor entrance is, right?"

"Yup," Ichigo answered, smile bright. This was where the real test would begin. "I remember."

Once the guard entered the booth and picked up the phone, Ichigo followed behind him. He watched as the man dialed out and let the line ring. A brisk voice answered, but before the guard could get a word in edgewise, Ichigo swiftly snatched the phone and spoke into the receiver.

"Yeah, I need ta see my dad," he said.

"Hey, you can't do that," the guard protested.

Ichigo danced out of his way and discreetly pressed the button that would disconnect the call, even as he continued "having a conversation with the person on the other line."

"Yeah, Mike Grant. Nah, he didn't know I was comin', but it's an emergency. Yeah, jus' tell 'im his kid's here. Yup, Alex."

The guard stopped chasing Ichigo for the phone and watched him carry on. Finally, Ichigo figured he'd played the game long enough and nodded one last time.

"Alright, I'll be right up." He hung up the phone and turned to the guard. Here was another tricky part. If the man he was about to mention no longer worked there, Ichigo would be busted and unable to pass Go. "Urahara says gimme a pass so I can go in."

"Urahara did?"

"Mmhm."

Silence stretched on until the guard nodded and reached for a small plastic pass connected to a tiny metal clip. After he handed it to Ichigo, Ichigo pinned it to his t-shirt and nodded in return, grin still bright and as adolescent as he could make it. The guard pressed a series of buttons and the large metal gate rolled aside. Ichigo inwardly smirked as he passed it. Now, all he had to do was get around the side of the building to the maintenance personnel entrance. Once there, the game would be afoot.

He made sure to make it seem like he was headed to the visitor's entrance before he veered off towards the underground parking garage, where the entrance he was looking for was located. The garage was strangely dark for it to be so early, but glowing orange lights illuminated the really dim corners. Once Ichigo was beyond the line of sight of the guard, he reached into his backpack and withdrew his Glock. He had a strange feeling lifting the hairs all over his skin, and he was never one to ignore his intuition. He held the gun at his side and quickly strode to the mint-green, metal door on the other side of the garage. He was about ten feet away when a soft rustle caught his attention and made him whirl in place, gun raised and aimed in front of him.

When Ichigo focused on the man also holding a gun aimed at him and casually walking towards him, his face went slack with a shock so profound, all he could do was stare, paralyzed.

"Long time no see, O. How long's it been, eh?"

Ichigo was confused. What was the meaning of this? Wasn't this man supposed to be dead? And why the fuck was he holding Ichigo at gunpoint?

"Wh-wha'?" he breathed.

Blondie grinned. "Ya been a real naughty boy, O. Why couldn't ya jus' stay gone? Woulda been easier that way."

OK, that made absolutely _no_ sense.

Ichigo scowled, the grip on his gun returning. "What the fuck're you talkin' about? I was below the radar, just like everybody else."

"Ah, yer right. I fergot. Guess I been so busy lately, it slipped my mind."

"I thought you were dead, Blondie. Why don't you put that gun down?" Ichigo tried persuading his former teammate.

"Yeah, Boss Tsukishima wanted ya ta _think_ that. You and the rest a'those misfits were s'posed ta die in Japan. S'too bad ya didn'. Now, I gotta clean up the mess those amateurs made."

At first, Ichigo was still stuck, confused, but once Blondie's words settled, rage began rushing through him. _Boss_ Tsukishima? And Blondie had had a hand in Japan? Ichigo's nostrils flared as he squeezed the handle of his gun.

"We were a team-" he started, but Blondie cut him off with a snort.

"Tha's what we wanted ya ta think. I was jus' an inside man."

The wide grin Blondie wore rubbed Ichigo the wrong way. He hoped P could hear him on the wire in his pants pocket. Not only didn't he think he could relay the news without hitting something, but he'd need some help getting out of there. However, he also had his mind set on causing Blondie as much pain as _he_ was currently feeling.

"You're one hell of an actor," Ichigo muttered, still reeling from disbelief.

"S'all in the job description, ain't it, O? You should know that firsthand."

Ichigo didn't take his eyes off the blond for a second, but he would admit he was sick to his stomach after what he'd just heard. Still... He wouldn't be much of a killer if he couldn't handle bad news and unexpected surprises.

"Blondie, I don't know why you did what you did, but I can't forgive it."

Blondie's grip on his gun shifted as he gave another sinister grin. "Well, tha's fine wit' me, O. I wasn't askin' for it."

Ichigo stared at his former partner, his former _friend_ , and shook his head. He still couldn't believe it, but he refused to let the other man catch him off guard any further. Ichigo started shuffling to the right as Blondie did the same, causing the two to circle one another. Whenever he and the blond had sparred in the past, it had always resulted in a draw. He couldn't let that happen this time. One of them had to die, and Ichigo wasn't about to let the rest of his team down. Blondie had betrayed them as well.

 _Unacceptable_.

Ichigo wanted to get his hands on the asshole across from him by any means necessary, so he slowly, very cautiously held his gun out to the side of his body, away from Blondie. Blondie's eyebrows disappeared beneath his straight bang as he cocked his head to the side.

"How 'bout a fair fight?" Ichigo suggested, eyes still glued to the other man as they continued to stalk each other.

Blondie grinned, and after a few beats slowly held his gun out to the side as well. "Sounds good. Ya never could beat me."

Ichigo smirked at the obvious challenge. "We'll see about that. I recall our matches always ending in a draw."

"Heh, tha's 'cuz I was takin' it easy on ya."

"Count of three?" Ichigo asked, ignoring the other man's empty taunts.

"Count a'three."

"1...2..." Ichigo watched Blondie carefully, certain the man had something up his sleeve. "...3!"

He dropped his Glock and lunged, not giving the other man too much time to set up a trap. Luckily, Blondie had the same idea. They ended up grappling with each other before Ichigo landed a sharp elbow to Blondie's shoulder, making him back up. They began circling one another again, but this time Ichigo wore a grin the size of Texas. Adrenaline raced through his veins, exhilarating him. He'd almost forgotten what this felt like.

"Nice ta know retirement hasn't made ya soft," Blondie taunted yet again.

Ichigo snorted. "I'm _so_ gonna kick yer ass."

"In yer dreams, O-boy."

With that, they lunged at each other again.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Bleach...

Onwards...

XOXOXO

Byakuya stared across the table, barely concealing a sneer. Three men were at the long, rectangular table aside from himself and Tsukishima. He'd never even met two of them, but the third man was notorious for his lack of morals and for always getting himself into unnecessary trouble. If Byakuya recalled correctly, the man's name was Nnoitra Jiruga. He was tall, with jet-black hair and a left eye that was kept covered by a green bandana. He was also extremely skinny. Didn't make him any less dangerous, though.

"I knew those idiots weren't dead," he stated loudly, tenor arrogant and rubbing Byakuya the wrong way.

Tsukishima didn't even blink as he kept his gaze locked with Byakuya's. "It doesn't matter, Jiruga. What matters is that they're dealt with properly. We can't have rogue agents running around, causing trouble for the agency. It's just not right."

Byakuya wanted to gag at the hypocrisy, but decided keeping it inside was the better option. One of the men at the table – a pale-haired man with strange eyes and a watery tenor – leaned forward and spoke up.

"S'long as I c'n get mah hands on that blue-haired piece a'shit, I'm good."

Again, Byakuya barely restrained the disgusted cringe that wanted to decorate his face. Instead, he focused on the pale man's hair. If he looked the guy in the eye, it would prove to be disastrous, he was sure.

"You'll have your chance, Shirosaki. Patience is the key. What we need to do now is talk strategy," Tsukishima said.

"Isn't that why we have Hirako?" a red-haired man with deep burgundy eyes asked.

Byakuya narrowed his own eyes and sat back in his seat. Something was amiss. Hirako was the name of the supposedly dead agent Blondie, so why was his name appearing in conversation as if he were alive? Tsukishima locked gazes with him again, and the look on the man's face told Byakuya everything he needed to know.

"Am I correct in assuming Agent Hirako, AKA Blondie, was a double agent?" he asked.

Tsukishima's expression never changed from the poker face he sported. Instead, he turned the blank look to the red-haired man.

"Indeed, it is. However, that's of no consequence at the moment. We need to construct a plan that will get all the members of the famous black ops team out of the way."

The red-haired man nodded and sat back in his seat, arms folded across his chest. Byakuya let his eyes travel the room again as he surveyed the occupants. Tsukishima was dressed in a sharp, navy-blue suit with matching tie, while Nnoitra had on a red t-shirt and black jeans. The man named Shirosaki was dressed in a white, long-sleeved, button-up shirt, a black sweater vest and light-blue jeans. The red haired man was dressed conservatively in a dark gray suit with matching tie, bright red hair pulled back in a low ponytail. If one merely glanced at the group with no discretion, one would believe the men were a harmless bunch. Byakuya knew better.

"Let Blondie handle that," Nnoitra grunted as he kicked his feet up on the table.

Tsukishima never even blinked. Byakuya figured had that been him or any other agent, there would have been dire consequences. But for some reason, this rag-tag team of miscreants were allowed free rein.

"Where is Agent Blondie?" Byakuya asked, mind already wrapped around the fact that the man was still alive and had indeed been a double agent.

There was no other way to explain his staged death.

"He's supposed to be here now."

Tsukishima said that with a slight frown. So, there _was_ a wrinkle in the fabric, after all. Byakuya sat back in his seat and listened to the rest of the discussion, his gut unsettled and heart rate climbing the whole while.

XOXOXO

Ichigo grunted as he came into close contact with the cement of the parking lot ground. Blondie came at him, foot raised and prepared to stomp his face into oatmeal, but Ichigo rolled away at the very last second. Blondie snarled and leaped in his direction, swift as a cobra. Didn't matter. Ichigo was on his feet, back lowered as he dodged a reckless clothesline. As the other man's arm was outstretched, Ichigo placed a swift, roundhouse kick to Blondie's vulnerable armpit. When Blondie went to grab the injured section, Ichigo sent a brutal hook to the man's jaw, which slowed the guy down enough for them both to take a breather.

Ichigo panted as he and Blondie circled each other, eyeing one another warily. They were once again at a stalemate, and it was then that Ichigo realized he would need backup getting out of there. He hoped like hell that P was still listening in to the wire. Maybe the crew was already in motion, but if Blondie had his own reinforcements, there would be a colossal mash-up.

"Guess I gotta work harder than I thought," Blondie growled, honey-brown eyes flickering with danger.

Ichigo knew for a fact that Blondie had several scenarios running through his mind because it was what they did as tactics specialists.

"Did you really think this would be easy, Blondie?"

"Course not. But I didn' think it would be as hard as it is. Gotta admit, yer still tough, O."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"Don't get too cocky, though," Blondie said with a smug sneer. "I have friends in high places."

Ichigo rolled his eyes briefly. "What the fuck do I care? You forget I have a team of professionals in my corner?"

"Ha! And they're all marked for death. Too bad, eh?"

For some reason, that rubbed Ichigo entirely wrong. It was fine considering his own death, but thinking of his friends – his _family_ – dying? Unacceptable. Especially B. In Ichigo's opinion, the blue-haired man was completely off limits, and for anyone to threaten him was taboo.

"You'll die first," he snarled, eyes hard and heart still racing.

Blondie grinned and rolled his shoulders and neck. "We'll see, now, won't we?"

Ichigo was taken off guard when Blondie lunged, only because his mind was still with his friends. He hit the ground hard and found himself staring into the muzzle of Blondie's recovered gun. He was breathing hard and his body was trembling. So, this was it, huh?

"Not so tough now, are ya?"

"Fuck you!" Ichigo snapped, not afraid in the slightest. If he had to go out in order to save his team, then that was fine with him. He'd go with a bang.

Blondie cocked his weapon and positioned it directly at the middle of Ichigo's forehead. Ichigo swallowed harshly, but refused to show any fear or weakness to his former friend and teammate.

Suddenly, Blondie was tackled from the side, the gun in his hand flying away and clattering underneath a car parked nearby. Ichigo was stunned. He watched from his back as a bundle of pissed off, blue-haired, hand-to-hand specialist beat Blondie's face into a maroon lump.

P's face came into view as he held out a hand, sideways smirk making Ichigo's hands itch.

"Can't believe this shit is happening," he stated, voice still managing to sound haughty as all get-out.

"Me either."

Ichigo was pulled to his feet, refusing to acknowledge the fact that he was shaking with nervous tension. Blondie had been seconds away from putting a bullet in his head. The thought made Ichigo furious. He wanted, more than anything, to pummel the blond asshole, but as he glanced a few feet away, he realized B was already doing a good job of that. The blue-haired man was straddling Blondie, fists crunching into the man's face over and over again. It was a bit unnerving, but Ichigo couldn't say that Blondie didn't deserve it.

G whistled from his spot beside P. "B looks pretty pissed, dontcha think?"

Grenade chuckled, but remained silent. Tu, however, was giggling like a mad woman. She had her hands on her hips as she watched B damned near killing Blondie.

"Aww. Must be love," she said.

Ichigo fought the blush that tried to worm its way across his face. Was she talking about him? He stalked over to the bigger man tearing into Blondie with a bloodthirsty vengeance. As Ichigo got closer, he could hear B muttering something with each jarring blow he delivered.

"Don't...you...fuckin'...think...'bout...touchin...a...hair...on..."

Ichigo frowned, but grabbed B's arms from behind. "Hang on, B!"

B jerked away from him with ease, which surprised the hell out of Ichigo and ultimately made him think B had only been bullshitting with him whenever they had fought. The man had an unnatural strength at the moment. Hell, it was almost scary. B snapped Blondie's bloodied face to the side yet again with a sharp right.

The _sound_...

Ichigo again grabbed B's arms. This time, the man paused as he seemed to finally register who was stopping him. He was breathing harshly, and his blue eyes were cold as ice. His nostrils were flared and eyebrows pulled into a frightening scowl. The timing couldn't be worse, but Ichigo found himself terribly attracted to the other man. B was _astounding_ in the throes of anger – that was nothing new – but the fact that the man was angry because of what Blondie had done to Ichigo...now that was just beautiful.

"We gotta go," Ichigo muttered, disguising the swaying of his body.

He must not have done such a good job because B eyed him with a narrowed gaze. Instead of being sarcastic, via classic B style, the blue-haired man climbed to his feet – thoroughly ignoring the battered man on the ground – and penetrated Ichigo with his stare.

"Yer nose is bleedin'," he grumbled.

Ichigo didn't even realize it until he touched the space between his nose and upper lip and came away with a smear of blood on his fingertips.

"S'nothin'."

"My ass," B grunted. "How'd ya let this asshole beat up on ya like that?"

Ichigo was sure he was supposed to be offended by B's harsh phrasing, but instead, he was amused. Call it insight, call it intuition, but B's worry was damned near palpable.

How touching.

"We'll talk about it later. Right now we gotta go."

B went to protest, but P interrupted. "O's right. We have to leave _now_. I'm sure the guards are moving by now."

The tone of P's voice made the hairs on the back of Ichigo's neck stand on end. He turned to his pink-haired teammate and gave him a confused frown.

"What happened?"

P sucked his teeth as he started for the opposite side of the parking garage. "Grenade thought it was a good idea to plow Bullet through the entrance gates."

"What?" Ichigo breathed, stunned. "And Shaw agreed to that?"

"Well, what was he going to say with Grenade in his ear tantalizing him with dreams of putting together a pipe bomb?"

P's voice was disgusted, but his expression was anything but. In fact, he looked entertained. When Ichigo turned his attention to his brunet teammate, the man was wearing a small grin that spoke of ill-conceived mischief.

"So, how the fuck are we getting out of here?" Ichigo continued, face still slack with shock.

"Bullet. We have to move now, though. Shaw's waiting for us."

"Jesus Christ."

A hand ran through Ichigo's hair and settled at his temple, distracting him from the current dilemma. He turned wide eyes in B's direction. What the hell was going on now?

"Ya got bruises everywhere," the man said quietly. "I don' like it."

Ichigo's insides writhed with excitement. B was touching him, and it didn't feel like the pretend affection from before. What did it mean, though? Should he take it seriously? Even though B wasn't the touchy-feely type with the team, he did show his concern through reckless violence and misplaced anger. He would catch attitudes with the person he thought was being foolish at the time, so maybe that's what this was? Ichigo didn't know, but he liked what was happening. Didn't mean he would show it. He cleared his throat and stepped away from the man's soothing hand, trying not to be obvious about it.

"Let's go then."

The rest of the team pretended not to notice what had occurred between the two men. All except for G. G's ice-blue eyes were slitted in a teasing grin as he trooped away from the scene, hands in his pockets. Ichigo ignored the hell out of him. If he acknowledged the man, it would only fan G's fire. Ichigo knew firsthand that he wanted no parts of G when he was feeling devilish. It just wasn't worth it, not to mention not fun in the slightest.

Tu jogged ahead with P, while Grenade followed behind them. G walked briskly, long legs keeping up with the brunet easily, while B remained behind with Ichigo. Ichigo glanced at the man from the corner of his eye, unease creeping over his skin and settling in his gut. But before he could make a sound, he tripped over his feet, his head going light. He grabbed the air, fruitlessly trying to keep his balance and stay standing Right when he thought he would hit the ground, strong arms wrapped around him and steadied him.

B sucked his teeth, obviously annoyed. Or that's what Ichigo thought. He blinked what felt like a dozen times in a row before his swimming vision cleared and settled on cornflower-blue eyes.

"Ya shoulda let me kill 'im."

"What am I, your woman or somethin'?" Ichigo grunted as he tried to straighten himself out.

Thing was, whenever he moved on his own, he caught an acute case of vertigo.

B was quiet, which was pretty strange in itself, but when it stretched on for what seemed like forever, it became downright peculiar. What the _hell_ was going on?

Ichigo glanced up at his teammate again. B just frowned down at him before averting his glare. Ichigo started to make a smart remark, but fatigue weighed him down first. He leaned heavily against B's thickly muscled arm, eyes sliding shut on their own. He was so tired all of a sudden. Maybe it was the adrenaline leaving his system, maybe it was the lucky shots that Blondie got in – there was no telling. But Ichigo was exhausted, and all he wanted to do was sleep. He was only aware of a quick, sweeping motion before all his lights went out.

XOXOXO

If O hadn't stopped him, Agent Blondie would probably be nothing but a puddle of blood by now. For one thing, when the asshole's voice had come through on the wire, it had left the entire team numb, shocked to Hell and back. P had even dropped the machine that registered O's and Blondie's voices. Once the blindsided effect had worn off, the rage had begun churning in all of them, but none more-so than with Grimmjow. For one thing, Blondie had betrayed them all, but he'd plunged a ten-inch knife into O's back. Anyone in the team could tell that O had considered Blondie his best friend since they'd had so much in common. For the bastard to not only turn on the orange-haired man that way, but to also try to kill him? Well, that was just wrong in every sense of the word.

Grimmjow had sat and listened, anger ratcheting and spiking dangerously. O's grunts of pain and furious swears had worn Grimmjow to the bone, until he'd been on his feet, pacing the bus. All he could think of was getting to O and beating the shit out of Blondie for making O make those sounds. He'd been more than relieved when Grenade had calmly stood and made his way to the front of the bus, where he'd convinced the driver, Shawlong, to knock down the gates to headquarters and get them all inside to help their teammate. Bullet had still been in motion when Grimmjow had jumped from it and steamrolled Blondie. And good thing he had. Blondie – the yellow-bellied punk – had had O at gunpoint, ready to kill him, for sure. That was all Grimmjow had needed to see to have his fury peak and give him the momentum he'd needed to take Blondie off his feet.

The resulting beating had been more satisfying than a cigarette while drinking.

He couldn't get the image out of his head of O on his back, brown eyes huge, yet defiant. The man had been ready to take a bullet for the rest of the team.

Grimmjow closed his eyes as he rested on one of the couches on the lower level of Bullet. They'd successfully gotten away because Shawlong had taken roads that not even natives of Langley knew about. The man was like a map in human form; it was crazy. The entire bus was silent, the other team members on the upper level in their bunks, taking naps or just reflecting on what had just occurred. O, on the other hand, was lying beside Grimmjow and still unconscious from his fight with Blondie. He had bruises along his cheekbones and on his right temple – hell, even under his left eye. It pissed Grimmjow off. Every time he looked at O's face, he wanted to get his hands on Blondie again, this time to finish the job. When they'd left, the asshole had been on his back, bleeding and in another world.

He deserved much worse.

O shifted and sighed, which caught Grimmjow's attention. He opened his eyes in time to see O's head turn slightly to the left. He wanted to put his hand on the orange-haired man's knee, wanted to lean in and kiss those tempting, full lips. But he knew better. O was still being skittish. However, there was definitely something going on between them. Why else would O give him doe eyes and snap defensive questions and statements at him? Grimmjow refused to play the blind man in this game of emotional tug-of-war. He wasn't going to let O take that role for too much longer, either. They both needed to face the fact that they were obviously attracted to one another. Whether it led to sex or a relationship would be figured out later.

Grimmjow focused on O's face again and hid his shock when he met a hooded pair of sleepy, brown eyes.

"Wha' time izzit?" O slurred as he ran a hand over his face.

"'Bout three. Ya been sleep a few hours."

Instead of responding, O tried to sit up. Grimmjow couldn't stifle his chuckle when O's body flopped back onto the couch, heavy and uncooperative.

"Still can't believe ya let Blondie kick yer ass like that."

O glared. "He didn't kick my ass. We were dead even until he caught me off guard."

Grimmjow frowned when he noticed O's face turning red. What the hell had the other man flushing like a scandalized female?

"Hn."

"Could you, uh, get me a bottle of water? Please?"

O had used his quiet, serious voice, and it had Grimmjow reacting in places that had him wanting to squirm as he stood.

"Yer lucky yer all fucked up," he muttered, trying his hardest to mask the arousal that was probably written all over his face.

O just rolled his eyes and ignored the barb, thankfully. Grimmjow didn't know what he would do if O had decided to notice his weird behavior. Or maybe if O noticed, it would be a good thing. They still had a certain topic to discuss – one that O had been studiously been running from as if a speeding train was on his heels. The more Grimmjow thought about it as he made his way to the refrigerator, the more the idea of bringing it up appealed to him. He grabbed a bottle of spring water from the black mini-fridge and ambled back over to the couch beside O. O managed to sit up as he accepted the water, expression grateful as he twisted the cap off and chugged deeply. As soon as he paused to wipe his mouth and breathe, Grimmjow went in for the kill.

"So, O. Ya gonna tell me if ya kissed me in Japan 'er what? I mean, I know I felt somethin', and I know I heard whatcha said. There somethin' ya gotta tell me?"

He kept his face as blank as possible, even though his heart was in the middle of going haywire. He watched O's brown eyes widen and body freeze. The water was forgotten as the orange-haired man sat still as a stone statue, probably thinking if he didn't move and didn't say anything, then Grimmjow would let the question slide.

Well, O had another thing coming.

Grimmjow cocked his head to the side and made himself comfortable on the couch, arm resting along the back of it. He bent his right leg as he turned to face O fully.

"I'm waitin'."

O's face erupted into red. He avoided Grimmjow's eyes and squeezed the water bottle until the plastic crackled and crinkled in his hand. Grimmjow decided maybe the man needed some assurance that violence wouldn't follow his admission, so he leaned in a bit and lowered his voice.

"O, I won' get mad."

The tactics specialist's eyes flashed as he scowled at Grimmjow. "I don't give a shit if you do." Well, that rankled. Grimmjow started to retort with an equally snarky comment, but was cut off. "OK, B. What if I told you I _did_ kiss you? What would that change?"

"I don't want a hypothetical situation here, O. I want the truth. Did you or did you not kiss me in Japan? Yes or no?"

O's eyes narrowed as he sat forward. A couple beats trudged by before the orange-haired agent finally spoke, slow and deliberate.

"Yeah, B. I kissed you. Now what?"

Grimmjow's breath caught in his throat. Even though he'd been expecting that answer, it still made him reel a little. It made everything just a tad more real.

"So...what?" he asked. "You like me?"

O sighed and massaged his eyes. "Heh," he chuckled. "Yeah, I guess."

"You guess?"

"OK, I _know_. I just...what the hell was I supposed to say, B? We're kind of running for our lives here, and when we weren't, we were miles away from each other, living separate lives. Not to mention, we don't have the best track record for getting along, you know."

Grimmjow just stared. "But...you like me."

"We're getting nowhere," O huffed. "Look, just pretend-"

Grimmjow didn't hear the rest because his mind was light years away. His hand tangled in O's shirt collar and dragged the man closer. From there, all Grimmjow could focus on was the soft texture of O's lips. O gave a shocked intake of air, but seconds later, he reacted to the kiss like he'd been waiting for it his entire life. One of his hands lifted and settled on Grimmjow's chest, while the other continued clutching the water bottle. Grimmjow immediately felt like his body was on fire. It started in his chest and wound its way down to his groin and toes before coming back up and engulfing his face and ears.

O felt absolutely divine.

Grimmjow groaned deeply, not even realizing how animal-like it sounded. All he cared about was the shorter man in his arms. He pulled out of the kiss before it got too serious and stared down into O's smoldering brown eyes. He carefully took the water bottle, put the cap on it and set it on the floor. Then, he raised his hand and cupped the right side of O's neck, right beneath his jaw as he connected their lips again. It was soft and tender: two words that never could have described anything that had occurred between them beforehand.

O sighed and moaned at the same time, which was sexy as all hell. Not only that, but one of his arms came up and wrapped around Grimmjow's neck, while the other rested on Grimmjow's hip. Things only managed to get hotter and heavier when Grimmjow decided to introduce tongue into the equation. O's tongue was slick and warm and tasted like _him_. There was no other way to put it, which made it interesting and damned arousing. Grimmjow wanted more, he wanted to immerse himself in O's very being until it was second-nature to him. He wanted to make the orange-haired man scream and moan and pant and drop off to sleep, weak and thoroughly sated. Grimmjow's brows pulled together as he growled into the kiss and deepened it.

The smacking sounds were loud and sending Grimmjow into a frenzy. He wanted to push O down onto the couch and have his way with the man. After sucking O's tongue into his mouth for a bit, Grimmjow released it and ended the kiss with an audible peck. He looked into O's now soft, brown eyes and tried to catch his breath as he pressed their foreheads together.

"I wanna fuck you. Now," he murmured airily.

O's face was red, and his eyes were closed as he smirked and nodded. "Yeah, that would be nice. That would be _really_ nice."

Grimmjow couldn't agree more. His dick was practically bursting through the pants he had on. O's scent was driving him fucking nuts, as was the feel of the shorter man. However, through the haze of lust settled over the both of them, Grimmjow realized that there was a bigger topic that needed to be discussed.

"Soooo, what's all this mean?" he asked.

O shrugged, eyes still closed and arm still around Grimmjow's neck.

"What do you want it to mean?"

"Why ya leavin' it up ta me?"

O shrugged again. "'Cuz if I get my hopes up, I might get them crushed. You might just want sex from me."

Grimmjow couldn't help but grin. So, did that mean O wanted more? Like a relationship? As a matter of fact, how long had O liked him? The questions seemed to come out of nowhere, but they were rapid and sharp.

"So, yer sayin' ya wanna be my boyfriend?" he asked, watching O's face turn a deep shade of crimson.

"I don't know. Maybe?"

Grimmjow separated their foreheads and waited until O opened his eyes and looked at him.

"What the hell's this _maybe_? You either do or ya don't. Ain't hard."

"Well, what about you?" O snapped, brown eyes on fire. "What do _you_ want?"

Grimmjow was stunned into silence. He wasn't prepared to have his question thrown back at him that way. _Did_ he want O as a boyfriend? He looked the other man over, studying the expressive brown eyes that could go from hot with anger, to smoky with lust in just a few seconds. He took note of the bright orange hair that made O stand out easily in a crowd, recalled the man's sharp wit and sarcastic tongue, and admired the guy's incredible brain power. He thought of the guy's strength and loyalty and grinned. Did he want O as a boyfriend?

Hell, yes.

"I want you in every possible way. Sex, a relationship – I want it all, O."

O's eyes went big as he stared for a long few seconds. Then, their lips were once again connected. Grimmjow had probably sounded like a sap, but it was all good. Even though he and O were busy running for their lives, they'd figure something out.

They had to.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Bleach...

Onwards...

XOXOXO

Byakuya made a slow circle as he surveyed the damage of the headquarters parking garage and front entrance. According to the cameras and a severely battered Agent Blondie, the very agents they'd been ordered to "clean" had made a surprise appearance. _Together_. Which meant that there was a big something that Tsukishima was neglecting to tell Byakuya.

An unfamiliar agent bustled past, drawing Byakuya's attention away from whatever it could be that Tsukishima was clearly hiding. There were a couple of ambulances in the parking garage, along with a few unmarked cars sporting flashing lights. There seemed to only be one injured person on the scene, but the members of the agency behaved as though the entire headquarters was under siege. Byakuya watched with mounting annoyance as Agent Blondie griped and groaned while being loaded onto an ambulance. Before the double doors were slammed shut, the agent hollered something that had Nnoitra cackling and Shirosaki shaking his head with a sly grin.

Agent Blondie had ordered the others to "kill those stupid fuckers."

Byakuya reached a hand into his breast pocket for his cell phone, refusing to frown and crack his poker face – one of the main attributes he was known for. He eased away from the crowd and made his way to the elevator of the parking garage, where he headed for his office. He had a few phone calls to make.

XOXOXO

_Is this really happening?_

Ichigo sat back from B's tight hold and closed his eyes. He didn't want the memory of the blue-haired agent's soft lips to disappear, and if at all possible, he wanted to replay the moment again and again.

Even though he'd seen B unleashing his wrath on Blondie, what had just occurred between the two of them had been far from expected. At the very least, Ichigo would've anticipated a heated scolding, which would have graduated into a livid argument and probably a physical altercation.

Not _kissing_.

Not a fucking _confession_ from himself and _definitely_ not from B.

But that's exactly what had happened. Ichigo smirked, eyes still shut. All those years of lusting after his teammate had finally paid off. A soft kiss to his cheek and a wayward hand underneath his shirt had his eyes flying open and his heart pounding. He glanced at B and couldn't stifle a full-blown smile at the small grin the blue-haired man wore.

"So, whattaya say, O? Wanna be my boyfriend? I mean, if we survive this shit, that is."

Ichigo shook his head, and B must've mistaken it for a negative response because his infamous scowl surfaced.

"No? So, what? You just wanna fuck or somethin'?"

"Don't be stupid. I was just shaking my head because I can't believe this is actually happening. You have no idea how long I've wanted you."

"I might if ya jus' tell me."

Ichigo leaned into Grimmjow again, smile widening. "Now, where's the fun in that?" he murmured. "Maybe I want you to find out the hard way."

Grimmjow gave a feral grin as he leaned closer too. "The hard way, huh? I never knew ya had so much naughty in ya, O."

The next thing Ichigo knew, he was caught up in another searing kiss that had the potential to curl his toes and strain his back.

...Well, it would've if Tu hadn't decided to show up and squeal like a pig.

Ichigo jumped so hard, he almost bit B's tongue. As it stood, they knocked foreheads in their haste to separate themselves. B growled like a dog, while Ichigo tried to hide his blushing face. How mortifying!

"Oh! My! God! Were you guys really just kissing?!" Tu screamed, wheat gray eyes the size of shot put discs. "Seriously?!"

B flinched and covered his ears, but Ichigo merely glared at their only female teammate. Why the hell did she have to be so fucking loud about it?

"Shut up!" he hissed.

Tu had glassy eyes as she put her hands on her ample hips and tilted her head. "Are you kidding me, O, Sweetie? This is history in the making! It's impossible for me to keep quiet about it!"

She was _hollering_. At this rate, the entire bus would-

"Hoohh?" a deep voice noised from the stairs. "What's all the commotion?"

Grenade was leaning over the rail, sleepy gray eyes filled with amusement. Behind him, G and P looked just as sleep-rumpled, but nonetheless humored.

"Mah, so noisy," G mumbled.

"You God-awful woman!" P snapped. "You knew we were sleeping! Why are you making such a racket?"

Tu whirled around and threw a dangerous glare at their pink-haired teammate. "Don't talk to me like that, Pinky! I'm just surprised! I mean, wouldn't _you_ be if you walked in on these two _finally_ kissing? I bet if I hadn't said anything, they'd probably be screwing by now. B looked like he was getting there, if that hand up O's shirt meant anything."

Ichigo ground his teeth together, wishing all types of bloody murder on the meddling woman. Why she felt the need to spread the news to the rest of the team was beyond him. It was his and B's business, as far as he was concerned. Ichigo looked to B for some type of assistance and was stunned helpless to find the blue-haired idiot smiling smugly, almost every last one of his teeth showing. It was the grin that spoke of two things: one, B was about to kick someone's ass thoroughly, or two, B had gotten his way. Ichigo wasn't sure which one was going on at the moment.

"Why are you fucking grinning like a fool?" Ichigo snapped as he pinched the soft skin at the back of the bigger man's arm.

B jumped and frowned at him. "Ow! The fuck you do that for?"

"This ain't the time to be smiling and whatnot. Tu just told on us, dumbass!"

B's frown slowly dissipated as it was replaced by a more gentle grin. "That's alright, ain't it? I mean, if yer gonna be my boyfriend, they're gonna hafta know sometime or another."

Ichigo felt his face growing hot as he averted his eyes from B's drilling blue gaze. If he let himself get too sucked in, they would be putting on a public show. Free porn anyone?

"Fine," he grumbled before inhaling deeply and exhaling a sigh. "Fine."

How could he deny B when he was looking like _that_?

"Yes, well, as sweet as this may be, we still have a very big issue to take care of," P interjected.

Ichigo smiled as he turned his focus to their pink-haired team mate. Yes, they did have an issue to take care of, but Ichigo had a feeling that P was dancing around a certain agreement they'd made.

"Yes, we do, P. Yes, we do."

P glared at him as he adjusted his glasses, golden eyes narrowed and calculating Ichigo's swift demise, no doubt.

" _At any rate_ , I believe it's of the utmost importance that we return to New Jersey. Since it's Blondie that we're dealing with, we can safely assume that he knows and probably intends to ambush us there. Before he gets the chance, I believe we should gather our vehicles and-"

"Wait," Grenade drawled from his spot behind P. "You tryna tell me he's gonna go after my car?"

"Not just _yours_!" Tu squeaked. "All of our cars! I swear to God, if that asshole does something to my baby, I will personally kill him myself!"

"Relax, woman," P said. "That's precisely why I told Shaw to head back to New Jersey post haste. I would be rather disheartened if something unfortunate were to occur to my vehicle as well. The only problem after that is where we'll rendezvous from that point on. The hangar was convenient, and-"

Ichigo climbed to his feet, reluctant to leave B's warm arms. He paced the bus, hands rubbing together as his brain worked overtime. He had an idea, but he wasn't sure how receptive the team would be to it.

"I think it might be time to talk to our mentor."

As expected, the statement made the entire group go silent. They hadn't seen their mentor and trainer for years now, but they knew that the man was retired and living in Long Branch, New Jersey. The man loved being on his boat more than he did in his own home, so it made sense that he lived close to water.

"You think he'd mind?" Tu asked, voice small and almost timid.

G sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Never mind that. Ya know how he is when he's not 'spectin' comp'ny. Everything's a mission ta him."

Grenade chuckled. "Ya got that right."

"Doesn't anyone have a way to contact him? I really don't want to catch that man off guard," Tu muttered.

"Yeah, right. This is _him_ we're talking about," Ichigo said with a shake of his head. "Besides, we'd be better off just winging it like the rest of this operation. We don't really know what or who we're up against, aside from Blondie and Tsukishima. There could be others. As a matter of fact, I'm willing to bet my ass that Tsukishima recruited a bunch of clowns to clean up his mess."

"I'll take that bet," B rumbled as he too climbed to his feet.

Ichigo's face flushed as he tried to ignore the heavy weight of B's presence. The blue-haired man was making his way towards him, a devilish grin working its way across his face. What did the man have up his sleeve now? He tried to ignore the amused looks coming from the rest of the team as B stopped right in front of him. Ichigo swallowed and tilted his head back, his eyes finding deep blue.

"Since we got a plan, why don't you an' me-"

"Could you _please_ perhaps rein in your libido for once in your life, B? I have something to discuss with O," P interrupted sternly, hands on his narrow hips.

Ichigo internally chuckled at the look of disdain and clear dissatisfaction written across B's handsome features. P, on the other hand, merely ignored it as he made his way over to Ichigo. The thin man's golden eyes were narrowed, but his face was utterly blank. Ichigo cracked a smug grin. He'd known P way too long not to be able to recognize the tantrum the pink-haired man threw before admitting defeat.

"Shall we?" P asked, indicating with a tilt of his head the small kitchen area of the bus.

Ichigo nodded with a smirk before taking a quick glance at B. Of course, the blue-haired ex-agent was still upset about the interruption to his plans, but Ichigo meant to make it up to him later. P gently took his elbow and led him over to the mini-fridge before glaring at the rest of the team. Tu rolled her eyes and stomped up the stairs to the upper level of the bus, while Grenade chuckled and G snickered, both men following their green-haired teammate's lead. The only one left lingering with murder evident in his gaze was B.

"This will only take a moment, B. Nothing to breathe fire over," P said.

Ichigo sighed as he connected looks with B. "We'll talk later, OK?"

B just grumbled under his breath as he turned his back on the two and trudged up the stairs. Once Ichigo was certain that he and P were alone, he faced the slightly taller man with another smug grin.

"So, is this the part where you tell me why you can't confess to Tu just yet?"

"Shut up, you miscreant," P monotoned. "I have not the slightest clue how you gathered the courage to admit your feelings to B after years of holding them inside, and frankly, it may give me nightmares to think about. However, I am _not_ here to escape my duty or shirk our agreement. I'm just requesting a little more time. You see how Tu behaves towards me; nothing I say to that woman will make her think I'm serious when I do decide to tell her that I...that I _like_ her."

"You mean that you _love_ her," Ichigo corrected with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

P waved a hand in dismissal. "Call it what you may. My situation is a tad more difficult than yours. Where it was clear that B harbored feelings for you, I can't be so sure about Tu and her attitude towards me."

It finally dawned on Ichigo what P was beating around the bush about. He was _scared_. Ichigo opened his mouth to tease his teammate, but stopped after clearly seeing the trepidation in P's golden gaze. He could relate. Hell, not even an hour ago, he'd felt the same way when B had confronted him yet again about what had occurred in Japan. Ichigo couldn't derive any pleasure from P's nervousness without making a fool of himself.

"Fine, take as long as you need. Just remember: it only gets more complicated the longer you draw it out. Take it from someone who knows."

P nodded and gave Ichigo a serious look. "I understand."

Ichigo figured the conversation was over when P turned and headed for one of the couches near the TV, so he made his way towards the stairs leading to the upper level of the bus. He climbed them slowly, his mind wandering to B's soft lips and rumbling voice. He thought about how nice it had felt to have the other man's arms around him, how nice it was to breathe in the man's unique scent. He sighed and ran a hand through his wild orange hair. Everything was still too surreal. Years had gone by with him admiring his teammate from a distance, inwardly wishing he could have him for himself. Years of wanting a person he never thought he could have. Now, he did, and it threw him off.

He stepped onto the upper level and glanced around the sleeping quarters. Everyone had the curtains to their bunks drawn, and silence prevailed. Mostly. The soft sound of music through a pair of headphones was all Ichigo heard as he took his time going over to B's bunk. The blue-haired man's curtain was drawn as well, and no noises could be heard. Ichigo frowned. He and P hadn't taken that long, had they? He hoped B hadn't fallen asleep.

He carefully lifted a corner of B's curtain. The man was stretched out on his back, arms behind his head as he stared at the ceiling of his bunk. Catching the movement from the corner of his eye, B's head turned towards Ichigo. When recognition hit, B's blue eyes lit up as he rolled onto his side and moved the curtain, allowing Ichigo entrance.

"Took ya long enough," he grumbled.

Ichigo smirked as he ducked and slid onto the bed, his right hand ghosting over B's hip. "Stop whining, big baby."

"I'm not whining."

B's arms were quick in pulling Ichigo closer. Ichigo chuckled as he kicked off his sneakers and made himself comfortable, nestling himself into B's chest. He took a few deep breaths through his nose, just enjoying the other man's smell. How he'd longed for this. Hell, his heart would ache whenever he imagined a scenario similar to such. Ichigo rubbed his nose against the soft cotton of B's t-shirt and grinned some more. Even though his life was in danger, even though he wasn't sure of where things would go from here on out, he knew one thing for certain: he was happy. In this precise moment, Ichigo was completely content.

XOXOXO

Grimmjow wrapped his left arm around O's trim waist and used his right arm to pillow the man's head. He smiled down at the spiky orange hair before pressing a kiss into the soft strands. He was whipped. He'd always thought O was attractive, and after the incident in Japan had occurred, his mind had been determined to remain focused on the mysterious tactician. Trying to figure out the situation on his own had inevitably made Grimmjow want more. He'd officially been intrigued.

O's hand made a fist, drawing some of the material from Grimmjow's t-shirt into it. When Grimmjow witnessed the look of utter satisfaction written across O's face, it did something strange to his gut. His innards twisted into a knot, and a lump formed in his throat. O smelled like sweat and blood, but his underlying musk was enticing enough to make Grimmjow hug him closer, his hand burying into O's loud orange hair. His fingers began massaging of their own accord, making O hum and almost purr, which pulled a low chuckle from Grimmjow. Who would have thought this could happen between two men who seemingly hated each other's guts? Two men that disagreed on almost everything, and who had absolutely nothing in common aside from the thrill of being back in action.

"What's so funny?" O asked, deep tenor husky and tempting as the devil itself. "Care to share the joke?"

Grimmjow stared into O's brown eyes. They were rich like chocolate and clear as whiskey, flecked with gold here and there. The outer rim of the iris was an olive green, mixing splendidly with the tea brown. His skin was tanned and he had freckles across his cheeks and on his arms. Yes, O was attractive, but he was _cute_ as well. Grimmjow hadn't seen cute since high school, and it kind of amused him. O was smiling up at him, waiting patiently for Grimmjow to fill him in, his teeth straight and sparkling.

"I was jus' thinkin' how cute you are."

O's smile turned into a frown of confusion. "What?"

Grimmjow kissed the tip of the man's upturned nose. "I said you're fuckin' cute. What of it?"

" _Cute_? I'm, I-I'm not _cute_! That's insulting!"

"No, it isn't."

"Yeah, it is! Cute is for kittens and puppies and ribbons and shit. I look like a kitten to you?"

Grimmjow tilted his head to the side with a smug smirk. "Nah."

"Exactly! So-"

"But ya purr like one."

O's mouth snapped shut as he turned an interesting shade of red. It wasn't candy apple bright; more like a maroon or a burgundy. Grimmjow chuckled again, this time leaving a brief kiss on O's full, soft lips.

"I hate you."

"Lies. Anyway...wanna make out?"

O shook his head and gave an exasperated chuckle, but he lifted his chin and closed his eyes. Grimmjow ignored the fluttering in his chest as he lowered his lips and connected them to O's. What started out slow and exploratory, quickly became urgent and pointed. Hands roamed over chests and hips, and quiet moans left both men. Grimmjow had a hand underneath O's shirt and splayed across the younger man's back, when a hushed whisper outside of his bunk distracted him. At first, he frowned, not really sure of what he was hearing. Once he heard it again, however, he paused, making O pull back from the kiss and give him a totally endearing look of confusion.

"What's wrong?"

Grimmjow shook his head as he listened to Tu whispering about the two men "doing it."

"I believe we're bein' spied on," he grumbled, reluctantly letting his hand slide towards O's lower back.

O craned his neck and glanced over his shoulder, brown eyes narrowed. Grimmjow figured the other man had finally caught wind of the whispering outside of the bunk because he reached around and snapped aside the curtain. Exposed, Tu, Grenade and G all smirked as though they hadn't just been invading their teammates' privacy.

"Don't let us interrupt you guys," the green-haired woman said coyly. "Sounds like it was getting good in there."

"Got that right," Grenade drawled with a chuckle.

"Give 'im hell, B," G said with a smug grin.

O growled at that, but all Grimmjow could really do was shake his head again and reach past O for the curtain. Once it was in hand, he drew it shut in their teammates' faces and pulled his prize closer to his chest.

"Ignore them," he murmured into O's right ear before he slowly traced the shell with his tongue. "Now, where were we?"

O made that sexy little noise of his again as his body arched into Grimmjow. "I gotta admit," he started as he leaned his head back in order to look into Grimmjow's eyes. "That was really smooth."

Grimmjow cracked a smile full of canines. "It was, wasn't it?"

"Don't get cocky."

"O."

"Hm?"

"Be quiet, and kiss me."

Grimmjow had a handful of O's firm backside as he silenced the other man with his lips and tongue. He didn't give a rat's ass that his teammates were outside of his bunk being the nosy pricks that they were. He didn't even care that his car was in danger of being destroyed by their former teammate. All that mattered was the man in his arms.

God, he had it bad.

**XxxxxxX**

Grimmjow had a hand buried in O's bright orange locks, fingers twitching as they lightly massaged the other man's scalp. Soft, yet firm lips were wrapped around him, dragging and sucking, the agonizing pleasure making Grimmjow's toes curl. He hissed and tossed his head back. O palmed his balls and hummed as he continued to suck down more of Grimmjow's length. Grimmjow moaned.

"That's right. Suck it just like that."

As soon as the words left his mouth, O opened his brown eyes and gave him a blank stare. Suddenly, the man's hot and wet lips were gone, and he was roughly shoving Grimmjow's shoulder. Grimmjow shot up with a frown as he looked around. They were still in his bunk, but O was sitting next to him with a sideways smirk full of amused condescension.

"Well, aren't you just a dirty old man. Suck _what_ like that, exactly? Hm?"

He'd been dreaming?

Grimmjow huffed and flopped backward onto his pillow, heavily disappointed. "Damn. Such a good dream."

"I bet it was, you freak," O groused.

"Oh, knock it off, sourpuss. There's nothin' wrong wit' enjoyin' a blow job. And besides...you give good head accordin' to my dream."

He deftly avoided the punch he knew was coming, laughter erupting from his chest as he did so. O rolled his eyes and climbed to his feet.

"We're here. Come get your car so we can leave. Shaw's gonna meet us in Long Branch."

That brought Grimmjow back to the here and now. As much as he would have liked to consider this a vacation for himself and O, the stark reality glared him in the face. They still had business to take care of. Grimmjow sat up and nodded, thoughts of what the future might bring plaguing his mind. Would they survive? He would make sure O did, that was for certain. Hell, the whole team if he had anything to say about it. He wasn't afraid of Tsukishima and Blondie, or anyone else they had working for them. In fact, he really wanted another go at that blond asshole for pulling a gun on _his_ tactician. The nerve.

His thoughts were interrupted when O turned back to him from the stairs with an arched eyebrow. "Ya comin'?"

Grimmjow nodded again and followed his new – what? Lover? But they hadn't quite made it to that level yet. Sure, he was looking forward to it, but until they took it there, what were they supposed to consider one another? Boyfriends? That's what he'd told O he wanted, but O hadn't necessarily given him a solid answer.

Once Grimmjow was off the bus, he turned and watched Shawlong drive away. So, they were headed to Long Branch to confer with their former mentor? Grimmjow sighed. Their former mentor was a tad off his rocker. He was stern with his training, so whenever he made a joke, no one knew whether to take him seriously or not. It made for some awkward times, but ultimately good memories. Grimmjow stalked over to his car and waited for P to produce all of their keys. Once they all had their keys, they entered their vehicles and left the airplane hangar. They only paused outside of it long enough for P to lock up before they were on their way to Long Branch.

They were ten minutes onto the Garden State Parkway, when a single gunshot almost made Grimmjow swerve into the divider. As he glanced around the highway for the source, his eyes narrowed when they landed on a line of silver Audi vehicles. The license plates were government issued, and _holy shit_ , they were shooting at O's car! Grimmjow stomped on the gas and skirted around the civilian car in front of him. He noticed Grenade and G speeding up in his rear view mirror, while Tu and P hung back in front. O's car was weaving back and forth as he tried to maintain control as well as defend himself. Grimmjow reached into his middle console and grabbed the hand gun he kept there for emergencies. He lowered the passenger side window as he sped up beside one of the silver cars. Just before he could aim, the silver car accelerated and weaved into the traffic ahead.

"Fuck!" Grimmjow cursed.

He recognized the tactics of the silver cars immediately. They were supposed to distract the rest of the team as one of them targeted O. Grimmjow wouldn't hear it. What the hell were they so gung-ho after O for anyway? Grimmjow pressed his foot to the floor and expertly avoided the civilian vehicles surrounding him as he gave chase to the idiot shooting at O's car. O was going to be so pissed when he saw all of those bullet holes in his baby.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Bleach...

Onwards...

XOXOXO

Heart pounding and chest heaving from adrenaline, Ichigo gripped the steering wheel and glared from the corner of his eyes at the line of government vehicles speeding along beside him. Normally, a person in his position would feel panic or crippling fear; Ichigo felt neither of those. He was wired with excitement, of course, but bigger than that was the sheer rage coursing through him.

How dare those assholes shoot at _his_ car?

Another bullet pinged off of his bulletproof windows, and the rage surged like a geyser. He heard another shot embed itself in the side of his car before he swerved, turning the wheel sharply as though threatening to ram the vehicle shooting at him. A snarl twisted his lips as he glanced from the crowded road ahead and glared to his right where the idiots were lined up trying to either run him off the road or shoot him dead.

This was not to be tolerated. He didn't give a rat's ass who they worked for or what they even wanted at this point. He was ready to make life severely difficult for these idiots. A horn blared as he careened around the civilian in front of him, but he only felt a brief moment of remorse. Just as he went to swerve towards one of the silver cars again, it slowed and came up behind him, sandwiching him in with the others that had adjusted their positions. Ichigo growled and glared into his rear view mirror. He understood this tactic, and it pissed him off all the more.

They were playing a nasty game of cat and mouse, with him as the fucking mouse. So, they thought they could toy with him, huh? Ichigo quickly studied the road ahead of him, mind whirring like a printer. It was a three lane highway, and he was in the middle, silver cars surrounding him on all fronts. If he stayed where he was, they'd finish him off good. However, they weren't even giving him time to grab his gun from the glove compartment, so all he had up his sleeve were evasive maneuvers. And that was going to be a tad difficult with cars gunning for him from every direction, not to mention the agitated civilians on the road. _What to do, what to do?_ he wondered, thoughts frantic. He saw P up ahead, as well as Tu and G. He figured B and Grenade were behind him, but what could they do to help him?

His question was suddenly answered as a powder-blue BMW skidded between his car and the silver car to his right. B's windows were tinted too darkly for Ichigo to register the man's expression, so all he could do was stare in disbelief and grudging admiration as B rammed the silver car, making it fishtail and slide over to the shoulder, where it barreled into the guardrail. Ichigo grinned and took the invitation, tires skidding as he sped over to the vacant space. He stomped on the gas and shifted gears, speeding ahead of the rest of the silver cars, engine sounding like something big and predatory.

Grinning like a mad man and hooting with glee, he caught up to the rest of his team, just as a loud, jarring explosion scared the shit out of him and almost ran him off the highway. He turned in his seat to check out what had happened and spotted Grenade's yellow Ferrari weaving into view. Facing the road again, Ichigo cheered like his team had won a championship. He should have known the explosion was Grenade's doing. Ichigo's heart was pounding like a war drum as he slipped between civilian cars with practiced ease. This was definitely a messy game Tsukishima's people were playing, and if he didn't use his cards correctly, he was going to end up a ball of flame like the unfortunate soul Grenade had wiped off the map. Ichigo checked his mirror again, and grimaced at the sight of two burning cars along the cement guardrail. He really hoped civilians hadn't been involved, but in this case, he didn't see how it could be avoided.

B's BMW was next to him again, this time on his left. His window was down and he was gesturing wildly at Ichigo. Before Ichigo could make heads or tails of it, his heart dropped out of his chest as a silver car nailed B's from behind, sending it into a frightening tail-spin. He wanted to shout, rage, do _something_ , but all he ended up doing was watching in horror as the blue BMW veered across two lanes of traffic before crashing through the metal guardrail and into a tree. Ichigo didn't even think twice before he spun his car around, dodging oncoming vehicles like his life depended on it. He raced over to the crash site, heart in his mouth. All he could think about was B's safety. Was the man OK? How bad was it? Shit!

When he passed the crash, doubled back and skidded to a stop beside B's car, he grabbed his gun from the glove compartment and slid over to the passenger seat of his Audi. He tentatively opened the door and glanced around. Good. No silver cars had pulled over with them, but even if they had, Ichigo was prepared to shoot it out in broad fucking daylight. Steam hissed and billowed from beneath the crumpled hood of the BMW, the smell of burning rubber almost too thick to inhale. He grabbed the handle of the driver's side of B's door and yanked, revealing the blue-haired man slumped over the steering wheel. The airbag had deployed and cushioned his face, but blood still tracked down from the left side of his head and from his nose. Ichigo wished he could check for more damage, but he had a feeling they didn't have time, so he reached inside and felt for a pulse. After a few harrowing seconds where he tried to calm his own heart rate, he found B's.

He was still alive.

Ichigo sighed with bitter relief. He couldn't even _begin_ to describe the level of anger surging through him at the moment. He didn't want to shake B – hell, he didn't really want to move him – but time was of the essence. He glanced around at his surroundings again, just to be sure he didn't have company, before he lowered his head and rubbed the back of B's neck.

"Hey, B, can you hear me?" he murmured, voice stern, tone gentle.

B didn't respond. Ichigo sighed, frustrated. How the fuck was he supposed to do this? Thankfully, two things happened. Grenade's Ferrari pulled over behind their cars, and the door opened, Grenade's head peeking over it. Just as the brunet asked about B's welfare, B groaned. Ichigo turned to the man, startled at first, then overcome with a mixture of relief, annoyance and exasperation. Hopefully, the man remained conscious long enough for Ichigo to trundle him into the Audi. Ichigo gave Grenade a thumbs-up and faced B again, whose blue eyes were fluttering open, teeth bared in a pained grimace.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he moaned, low tenor sending shivers down Ichigo's back. Probably not the best time to grow a boner, but B's voice was unreasonable. "There's an elephant on my arm."

Ichigo scowled, confused. "What are you talkin' about?"

B finally registered Ichigo's presence and looked up at him, eyes glazed with agony, but face impassive. "Did you fuckin' hit me?"

"What?"

"You heard me, asshole," the blue-haired idiot growled, words sluggish. "Yer always fuckin' wit' me. I swear ta God, O, if you-"

Ichigo shook his head and held up his hand. "Oh my fuckin' God, we _so_ don't have time for this right now, B. You can dig deeeeep into those pockets of delusion later, in a nice, safe place, K? I _promise_."

He reached into B's car, frustration making him grumble and inwardly rant. B clearly had a concussion. Shit, the man probably didn't even know what day it was if he was thinking he was so out of it because Ichigo had hit him. Part of that was a tiny bit hilarious and satisfying as all get-out, but they were pressed for time. As a matter of fact, just as he grabbed B's left arm to help lift him out of the BMW, a pinging sound off the back window made Ichigo duck and search the area in shock.

_That was a bullet, right?_

He spotted a silver car pulled over a ways back on the shoulder, a head of white hair peering down at them from behind the open passenger door. Ichigo didn't recognize the assailant, but he knew without a doubt that their time had run out. Luckily for him, Grenade was providing cover fire. Reports from a large caliber gun rang out around them, encouraging much needed haste in Ichigo's movements.

"Let's go, Dory. Time's a'wastin'."

He was somehow able to get B to climb out of the BMW and into the Audi, where Ichigo pushed the passenger seat all the way back. He ransacked B's glove compartment for anything necessary, along with the car keys, before piling the miscellaneous crap onto the man's lap and slinking over him. He slammed the door and flopped into the driver's seat of his car, wasting no time burning rubber away from the scene. He glanced into the rear view mirror to make sure that Grenade was right behind them before shifting gears and flying down the highway.

This was a clusterfuck of _epic_ proportions. First, they were blindsided on the road, then B ended up incapacitated, and now they were still in the middle of the car chase from hell. It was like they were filming an episode of _Cops_. Ichigo glanced over at B, who was slumped in the seat, cradling his left arm and glaring grisly murder at him, blue eyes glittering with the ghost of pain poorly repressed.

"Are you serious right now?!" Ichigo snapped, a little offended.

B huffed and made a big deal about turning away and staring through the window. His pout was annoyingly cute. And...there was the fact that B looked _damned_ good in the passenger seat of Ichigo's car.

Ichigo opened his mouth to complain some more in order to hide his boiling lust, but was interrupted by the blast of a horn from his right. A silver car was there, drunk-weaving as a dark-haired man with a hauntingly familiar grin hung out of the passenger window and steadied a goddamn-fucking rocket launcher on the roof.

"What...the...fuck?" Ichigo breathed.

"Oh, look at that," B muttered.

Ichigo's heart rammed against his ribs as he stomped on the brakes, swerving dangerously into the right lane behind the car, tires screaming like pterodactyls. Ichigo didn't wait for the man in the other car to point the launcher in their direction again before he dipped through the traffic in a mad race to just get the fuck out of the way.

"My _arm_ , asshole!" B yelped as he braced himself against the door with his uninjured one.

"Sorry 'bout that! Hold on!"

Ichigo had spotted the oncoming exit a little before the rocket toting jerk had shown up, so he braked hard and turned off, ignoring the blaring civilian horns, and smiling when the silver car continued speeding ahead on the highway. Ichigo managed to get around the civilians waiting at a traffic light before drifting into a motel parking lot that wrapped around the square building. He spotted a nice little niche in the corner of the lot by a green dumpster and a bunch of neglected bushes and trees. _Perfect_. Hopefully, they'd be able to hide out there for a while, which was probably better for B, anyway.

Speaking of B, he was back to giving Ichigo his most unimpressed face. Ichigo sighed as he parked and shut off the engine. He sagged into the seat, heart still pounding, but gradually slowing down. He tilted his head back, closed his eyes and just allowed himself to breathe and reflect on his near-death.

So...yeah...that had just happened, hadn't it? Whoever Tsukishima had sent after them was really trying to wipe them out. It was kind of frightening, but mostly irritating and infuriating. Essentially, they had done nothing wrong to deserve this kind of "cleaning," but Tsukishima obviously felt otherwise. And since the jerk had placed himself pretty high up on the totem pole back at the agency, there was really only one way to get out of this mess alive.

But _shit_ , he was tired.

Ichigo opened his eyes and side-eyed B. A whole host of things flared up all at once: residual fear from when he'd seen B's car plow into that tree, determination as he'd driven across a whole lane of oncoming traffic to reach him, relief from knowing that he was OK – that _they_ were OK, and, of course...lust. His eyes roamed over B's broad, supple chest, down over those rock-hard, chiseled abs before he finally felt a hint of shame at eye-raping the man while he was in the throes of a concussion. Ichigo sighed for what seemed like the millionth time that day. This wasn't how he'd pictured getting B alone.

"I think I need ta lie down," B grunted, shaking Ichigo out of his musings.

When he gave B a stern once-over, he realized that his blue-haired teammate looked like he was on the verge of emptying his stomach all over Ichigo's Audi. Unacceptable. Ichigo hurried up and grabbed the car keys before swinging out of the vehicle and heading over to the passenger side. He made it just in time. As soon as he opened the door, B leaned over and puked all over his sneakers. All Ichigo could do was stare down at the putrid mess, left eyebrow twitching with barely repressed rage.

If he had _any_ luck at all, it had to be bad.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, ignoring the hushed voice in his head, coaxing him to choke the life out of B. That would be counterproductive, _at best_. Finally, when he felt like he could speak without clenched teeth, he opened his eyes and forced calm into his voice.

"Let's go inside."

That was all he could manage before he turned on his heel and toed out of the sneakers. He reached down, holding his breath as not to inhale the vicious fumes of vomit, and lifted the sneakers with two fingers, quickly chucking them into the dumpster. The socks he wore were splattered as well, but he needed something on his feet until they made it to a room. As B eased out of the car at a snail's pace, Ichigo counted backwards from ten. His temper was threatening to boil over, but he was trying to keep it in check. B hadn't _really_ blown chunks all over his feet _on purpose_. He was concussed and probably dizzy as a kid who'd just discovered the joys of spinning in pointless circles. That thought in mind, Ichigo gripped the elbow of B's uninjured arm and guided him towards the back entrance of the motel. They trooped to the front desk, where Ichigo produced one of his fake IDs and matching credit cards, and prayed no one would look for them there for at least a day or two. Actually, two might be pushing it.

As they waited for the clerk to come back with the keys, Ichigo took in his surroundings – a habit of his that usually kept him ahead of trouble. There was an elderly couple seated on the comfy-looking couch across the way, blatantly staring at him and B. His hackles immediately raised in defense, even though he knew that he and B looked like something straight out of a crime sitcom. He was barefoot, and B was bleeding and hunched over. Feeling the crushing urge to say _something_ , he turned to the couple with a subdued - and what he thought was friendly - smile.

"He's really drunk. ...And he fell," he explained.

He was sure by the way the two looked at one another that they didn't believe a word he'd just said. Normal people would have gone to the emergency room if his story was true, but ah, well. At least the couple wouldn't assume they were criminals. At least, Ichigo _hoped_ not. He was tired and needed a shower and some food. Takeout sounded _marvelous_.

The clerk came back with their keys and slid them under the slot of the office window. "Here ya go. Check-out's at eleven AM."

Ichigo nodded, ignoring the derisive look from the dark-haired clerk, and gripped B's elbow again as he stared down at the room number. One-sixty-seven. Good, at least they were on the first floor. Ichigo didn't think this motel had an elevator, and he was in no way, shape, or form prepared to deal with stairs and B at the same fucking time.

Just _no_.

It was slow going to the room with B dragging his feet, but they made it, and as soon as the door slam-locked, Ichigo was tempted to swan-dive onto the bed. It was a pretty big bed too, considering the seediness of the motel. However, he looked over his shoulder and sighed at B. The man was barely hanging onto his balance, swaying in place, face still a horrendous, bloody mess, and eyes hooded and glazed. Ichigo shook his head and helped the blue-haired man to the bed before trudging into the bathroom for a couple of wet rags and a towel. When he came back, B was stretched out on his back, arms splayed and mouth cocked open as he snored.

"You're such a baby," Ichigo grunted as he strolled over.

He sat beside B and studied the man's face for a bit. B's head was tilted to the right, exposing his strong-looking neck. Blood had collected on his shirt and stained the side of his face and neck, but it did nothing to take away from his handsome features. Ichigo brushed aside bright-blue bangs and smirked. B was a gorgeous specimen of man, and if he allowed himself the moment, Ichigo was proud to consider this man _his_. The kisses they'd shared replayed themselves as Ichigo tenderly wiped at the blood on B's face and neck. He wished B wasn't out of commission because he'd _really_ like to pick up where they'd left off on Bullet.

With yet another sigh, Ichigo finished up cleaning the blood from the blue-haired man and went about taking off B's shoes and socks. That was all he could really do without disturbing him, so he went about his business, which began with a hot shower.

XOXOXO

When Grimmjow came to, he was in an unfamiliar bed, and there was a warm, solid presence along his right side. He blinked up at the...mirrored...ceiling...and grinned at the head of orange hair he spotted. So, O had kidnapped him, eh? Once he gathered his bearings, it was easy to tell that they were in a motel. A crappy one, at that. He went to pull O closer, and that was when it started.

The pain of a thousand agonies erupted in his face, his head and his left arm. All he could do was gasp and hiss as he was bombarded with misery. What fresh hell was this? If he wasn't a better man, he would have started crying. As it was, he curled onto his right side and squeezed his eyes shut as he grunted pleas for mercy into a pillow. The commotion must have brought O out of his slumber because he sat up, rubbing his eyes in a way Grimmjow would've found cute if he wasn't in the middle of dying.

"B, what's wrong?"

O and his bedroom voice, dammit. Too bad Grimmjow couldn't really enjoy it.

"I think I'm dyin'," he blurted through the pain.

A brief moment passed before O chuckled. "You're such a drama queen. Here, can you sit up? I got you some pain killers and water. There's food too, if you want it."

"Fuck you. I ain't...a...drama queen."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Come on, sit up."

Grimmjow slowly did as O said, head throbbing like an open wound. A wave of dizziness and nausea hit him so hard, his eyes almost rolled back. Instead, he took a few fortifying breaths and gulped down the saliva that announced the arrival of rising bile. After a couple of beats, his rebellious body stabled enough for him to squint at his teammate.

"Why does my arm feel like Thor hit it with his hammer?"

"Your shoulder was dislocated. I fixed it," O answered with that wolfish grin he wore when he was being particularly bad. "Oh, and your face looks like you got mouthy with Kimbo Slice, but overall, I think you came out OK."

"Somethin' tells me yer enjoyin' this."

Grimmjow didn't wait for a response as he grabbed the opened bottle of water and two pills from O. He downed both and glanced around the room. It was your typical motel room. Mirrors all over the place, updated, flat-screen TV, cable box, two night stands, small, round coffee table in the corner near the AC/heating unit, large wall-sized window with drawn, ugly, paisley-patterned curtains, and a large bed with equally ugly blankets. Like he said: typical. One thing he spotted that was different was the microwave and mini fridge near the bathroom door.

"That's somethin' new."

O grinned and fluffed the pillows behind him before lying back and resting his hands on his stomach. He stared at the TV that was playing an old action flick and shrugged.

"Yeah, I figured we could use them."

"I think I need more sleep before I can even think about food."

O nodded again and peered at him from the corner of his eye. Grimmjow smirked at the obvious display of nerves. Dammit, why did he have to be all fucked up? There were a million things he wanted to do to O in a situation like this. _Better yet, make that a million and one_ , he thought as he let his eyes hungrily take in every bit of the orange-haired man, especially the spot between his legs.

"You better be glad I'm in so much pain," he grumbled as he lay back down.

O arched a brow. "Oh, yeah?"

"I'd fuck the shit outta you right now, O."

And there it was. O's cute little blush that he always tried to hide was burning on his cheeks like a beacon in the night. He stammered over some nonsense, but Grimmjow cut through all that. He was on his back again, but his head was turned towards O, eyes fastened to his full lips.

"Can I at least have a kiss?"

O's lips thinned into a line as he fought and failed at holding back another blush. _How cute is this guy?_ Grimmjow thought as he watched O turn to him and rise to his elbow. O's honey-brown eyes glinted in the dimness of the room as he gazed down at Grimmjow. After what felt like forever, O finally reached over and _caressed_ the side of Grimmjow's face, thumb gentle as it moved over Grimmjow's cheek and lower lip. It made things move around in a fuzzy frenzy in his gut as he stared back. And then, O slowly leaned over and connected their lips.

It was soft and agonizingly tender at first. O's lips moved over his in a tentative dance until Grimmjow lifted his right hand and cupped the back of O's neck, bringing that lithe body closer. O made a noise that was a mixture of a moan, a sigh and a whimper, and it made Grimmjow's soldier peak with interest. He grunted and deepened the kiss, parting his lips and tasting O's with the tip of his tongue. O opened his mouth without hesitation and added fire to a pit of oil. Grimmjow groaned and tightened his hold on the back of O's neck, the whisper-soft strands of O's hair sliding between his fingers. His stomach was hollow, but his groin was _boiling_. Each time they kissed, it felt like the first. O's taste was branded in his DNA by now, and damn, what Grimmjow wouldn't give to have the full use of his left arm. It was still too sore, though. He made due by scooting closer and pulling O deeper into the kiss.

O's hand was wayward.

It started ghosting over Grimmjow's chest, then down to his stomach, then over to his right side, where it slipped under his shirt and traced sweet torture over his belly again. The skin to skin contact broke the dam of ardor he was trying to keep at bay. He scowled with pleasure and arched into O's touch, simultaneously thrusting his tongue deeper into the other man's mouth. O moaned, that wily hand forming a claw against Grimmjow's abdomen.

"Fuck," O murmured, lips still connected, but just barely. "I want you _so_ bad."

Just as Grimmjow went to enthusiastically agree with that statement, as well as make good on it, his head started throbbing in earnest. He grimaced and shut his eyes, damning every being in charge for doing this to him at a time when all he really wanted to do was fuck the hell out of his hot as hell boyfriend.

...O _was_ his boyfriend, right?

Another nasty throb made him wince and give a strangled groan as he backed away from O's drugging lips. He'd have to think about that later. Right now, he needed another nap and time to give the pain killers a chance to do their thing. Probably should've eaten something first, but meh. Nausea and food were never a great mix.

"This is the worst," he grumbled as he lie back.

O huffed a breath, but lay his head on Grimmjow's chest. "Yeah, this is the pits."

Grimmjow chuckled and absently ran his good hand through O's hair. "I'll make it up ta ya."

"Swear?"

"Nah, that's a promise, O. Now, lemme sleep. Maybe when I wake up, this stupid headache'll be gone, an' I can give ya a real reason ta yell at me."

O snorted through a chortle. "You're such a fuckin' perv, B."

"Heh. You ain't seen _nothin'_ yet."

Grimmjow meant that with every fiber of his being. O thought he was a pervert now? Give him a few hours of rest and some food, and he'd show O just what that word meant. Sure, he might still be sore come waking time, but he'd completed missions under worse conditions. Besides, there was no telling how long it would be before they had this kind of privacy again, so there wasn't a chance in hell he was turning down this golden opportunity. He sighed and toyed with O's hair some more before gradually dropping off to sleep.

XOXOXO

"What do you mean, you _lost_ them?"

"Aaroniero and Yammy are dead," Byakuya stated with a calm he didn't feel.

"...That is unfortunate." Tsukishima sighed and after a small pause continued. "Return to Langley. We need to regroup and find them."

"Yes, Sir."

Byakuya ended the call, outrage rolling over in his gut. The plan had been doomed for failure from the start, and he'd seen no reason to go after the group of dangerous former agents so recklessly. Tsukishima had insisted and lost two assets in the process. Nothing about this mission felt clean; in fact, it left him with questions and confusion, two things he never associated with his line of work. He liked to go into a situation with both eyes wide open, which meant no unknown factors and mysterious aspects.

This was intolerable. Byakuya sped away from former agent, B, AKA Grimmjow Jaegerjaques's powder-blue BMW. The car was totaled, the front crumpled like a soda can, but there was no body. Tsukishima's dark-haired minion, Nnoitra Jiruga, had mentioned something about former agent, O, AKA Ichigo Kurosaki, nabbing the blue-haired former agent from the wreck and speeding off to whereabouts unknown. It was maddening. Byakuya hated being forced into a tangled web such as the one Tsukishima weaved. It left him feeling out of control and unacceptably stupid.

Byakuya did his homework. He carefully studied his targets before silently ending their lives. His mentor compared him to a ninja, which was fanciful, but Byakuya also liked to believe it was accurate. His targets never knew he was there, even while he observed them. This sloppy mess that Tsukishima had going on was angering on an entirely different level.

Byakuya punched a button on the dashboard of his government issued SUV and snapped, "Call Kisuke Urahara."


End file.
